B 1115 
opy 1 



impses o 



WRAY 




Class LbLi^ 

Book_ 



^'1 



Copyright N°. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Glimpses of Child Nature 



For 
TEACHERS AND PARENTS 



By 

ANGELINA W. WRAY 

Author of ^^ Jean Mitchell's School," etc. 



Public-School Publishing Company, 

Bloomington, Illinois. 

1904. 






LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

SEP 19 1904 

j7 Copyngrit Entry 
cures CV XXc NO! 
COHY B. 




Copyright 1902 
By Angelina W. Wray 



Copyright 1904 
By The Public-School Publishing Co. 



ffiru. M. IE. dngbrr. pi|- i. 

WHO TRULY FINDS 

'Sermons in Stones, Books in the Running Brooks, and Good in Everything' 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED 

WITH THE SINCERE FRIENDSHIP 

OF THE AUTHOR 



PUBLISHER'S PREFACE 

np HIS little book, like "Jean Mitchell's School" 
by the same author, seeks to aid in the 
introduction of the spirit and method of the 
••New Education" into our Common Schools 
without any radical change in their organization. 
It has been said that modern education seeks to 
educate the children while the aim heretofore 
has been to teach them the elementary branches. 
Its purpose should be to do both of these things. 
This has always been the purpose of every good 
school. In recent years the meaning of school 
education has been enlarged. This larger 
meaning is to be realized by centering the at- 
tention more upon the child than formerly. 

This little volume suggests a method of study- 
ing children while teaching them, which will 
prove helpful to any teacher who feels the need 
of help. These glimpses of child nature are true 
to life and suggest methods of solution of the 
most difficult problems that arise in school man- 
agement. The book will prove especially help- 
ful to primary and intermediate teachers as well 
as to parents. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



1. Aims and Results, . • • 9 

2. Contact with Home Environment, . 23 

3. The Child's Ideals, . • - 34 

4. Teaching by Stories, . . 44 

5. Training the Will, . • -53 

6. The Timid Child, ... 64 

7. The Nervous Child, . • • 75 

8. The Slow Child, ... 86 

9. The Self-Concious Child, . . 99 

10. The Untruthful Child, . . 113 

11. The Passionate Child, . . 122 

12. Some Types of Teachers, . . 138 



I. 

Aims and Results. 

The acknowledged aim of every teacher is to impart 
knowledge. The curriculum of each year shows so 
much ground in arithmetic, so much in geography, so 
much in grammar, to be gone over during the ten 
months of school. This can be done only by more or 
less effort on the part of both teacher and pupils. It 
must be accomplished, however, or the child will fail 
of promotion, so the strain of effort is lessened by the 
sense of co-operation. Almost all parents wish to have 
their children promoted with the class, and do all in 
their power to assist the teacher in this endeavor. I 
know a very, very lazy boy, who is promoted each year 
with the other pupils. Left to his own will, I am sure 
he would have calmly folded his hands in the first 
grade and said serenely, 

"Boys may come and boys may go, 

But I'll stay here forever." 
Notwithstanding this idle disposition he has arrived 

9 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

at the dignity of a seat in the second grammar grade. 
The other day he happened to show me his record. I 
was struck by the number of 79's it contained. 

"Why don't you study a Httle harder and get 80?" 
I asked. 

"What's the use ?" he answered. "They always put 
you through if you get 79. I've tried it lots of times 
and I know." 

As I looked at him standing there with a smile on 
his face, I felt cross, and said : 

"Well, I don't know how you get even that average 
when you are so exceedingly lazy." 

"Ho!" he exclaimed with unfeigned indignation. 
"/ can't help it. Everybody .h'ists me along. Pop he 
h'ists me nights in 'rithmetic, mom, she h'ists me morn- 
in's in spellin', an' teacher' she just tugs at me con- 
stant. I don't git one minute's peace !" 

Reluctantly or cheerfully this process of helping goes 
on and as a result the average number of promotions is 
made and the rotation of classes is kept up. 

To secure this a certain amount of attention must 
be given by the pupil in school hours. Some discipline 
is imperative. The teacher is forced to maintain order 
of some kind, at least at intervals. Many teachers 
stop right there. They say, "I teach the required les- 

10 



AIMS AND RESULTS. 

sons in the required way. Into the willing or unwill- 
ing minds of the children I pour a stipulated number of 
facts. To achieve this end I preserve order and disci- 
pline. That is what I am paid for doing, and to the 
best of my ability I do it. As for all this fol de rol 
about developing their higher natures — that is utter 
nonsense. Half of them haven't any and if they have, 
I haven't time to waste on such foolishness." 

I once heard a teacher who prided herself on her in- 
tense practicality say this to another who had the same 
grade : 

"I have forty-three pupils in my class." She added 
frankly, "My highest aim is to promote forty of them 
at the end of June, and if I attain that result I shall be 
entirely satisfied. This clamor about studying the 
children, and coming into sympathy with them, sounds 
like mere silliness. I am too busy to pay attention 
to it." 

"But," said the other teacher, "I have tried it, and 
I find that I get better results in lessons from such 
study." 

"Why!" exclaimed her friend in incredulous tones, 
"Do you really mean that you can teach multiplication 
or division better because you think you understand 
Tommy's nature better? Six times four are twenty- 

11 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

four. You can't make that any easier to remember, 
because you know why Joe squirms so when he tries 
to learn it." 

The other teacher waited a minute before she an- 
swered. Then she said pleasantly : 

"Of course, I cannot answer for anyone but myself. 
But I mean to say that I can teach the six times table 
more easily to Joe because I understand him, than I 
could before I possessed the key to his nature. And it 
is the same with the other lessons. I can teach better, 
because I know better how to reach the children's un- 
derstanding through the sympathy I have gained." 

"Well!" the first speaker replied, shaking her head 
to express her entire disapproval. "It's a mystery to 
me. but I don't intend to bother with it. If the chil- 
dren don't want to learn, I'll settle them. After they've 
been kept after school for an hour or so, their mem- 
ories improve most wonderfully." 

One teacher, with pride in her keen perceptions, held 
before her own consciousness this aim — the promotion 
of so many pupils. When this result was reached she 
was "perfectly satisfied." The other, wuth clearer in- 
sight, had for her aim the formation of character. 
When, as a result, she saw earnest effort taking the 
place of idle indifference, little faults being corrected 

12 



AIMS AND RESULTS. 

and bad habits laid aside, was not hers the higher re- 
ward? 

But now let us suppose that we have in our cwn 
minds this latter and higher aim, the development of 
character. How shall we deal with the difficulties that 
arise and the faults that present themselves to our notice? 

"Keeping in," some one says. We all know about 
that. To many of us, when we were little it lost the 
most of its terrors from familiarity. I once had a 
teacher who used the term as a kind of watch-word. 
Whatever we did in her room that annoyed her met 
with the same penalty. If we dropped our pencils we 
were *'kep' in;" if we whispered, if we cheated, if we 
told tales, if we turned around, if we disobeyed, 
if we told lies, if we chewed gum, — we were "kep' 
in." And we children had a standard of wrong- 
doing in that class which we used as a measure. 
We estimated our faults and failings by the num- 
ber of minutes we were detained. A girl would be "ten 
minutes-bad" or "fifteen minutes bad," or for some 
crowning offence, "a whole hour bad." So common 
was the punishment, and so often was it inflicted that 
it came to be considered rather an honor than other- 
wise, and when one day a boy broke a window and had 
to remain until six o'clock the whole class considered 

13 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

him a hero and we held our breath in admiration as he 
stumbled through his recitations. We had obtained a 
strange criterion of right and wrong. 

Detention is all right in its place. It has to be 
resorted to at times. But what the old-fashioned school- 
committee described as "promiskus an' gin'ral an' uni- 
varsal an' etarnal keepin' in," is wrong for both teacher 
and pupils. 

What about sarcasm as a punishment? There are 
times, as every teacher knows, when the temptation to 
indulge in a few sarcastic remarks is almost irresistible. 
We see many disagreeable manifestations of faults or 
follies, and the quick, witty word rises to our lips be- 
fore we think, and sometimes even after we have 
stopped to think we are tempted to feel, "Well! I'm 
glad So-and-so knows exactly what I think of him." 

But there is one great reason why sarcasm is not a 
suitable punishment. It aims directly at the pupil's 
self-respect. The hot words burn their way into the 
memories of the sensitive ones, while many a child who 
seems indifferent as he listens, finds himself hurt and 
wounded when alone and will never forget the pain. 
Without self-respect a man or woman, a boy or girl, is 
worthless. Take that entirely away and you have no 
hope, no ground on which to build. The teacher who 

14 



AIMS AND RESULTS. 

is habitually sarcastic destroys not only her pupils' 
respect for themselves, but also undermines whatever 
affection they may have felt for her. 

Punishment must be administered sometimes. We 
all recognize that fact. Broken laws must be followed 
by penalties of some kind, nor do I think it is wise to 
be too easy under all circumstances. A certain boy 
excused his mischievous behavior by saying, "I can't 
help playing tricks in school. The teacher never does 
anything when we're bad, only sasses us ; and none of 
the boys mind that." 

The punishment should be something that zvill be 
heeded, for if not it has no value as a deterrent agent 
but becomes a positive incentive to mischief. 

I had in my class last year a dear little girl named 
Dorothy. She had many pretty winning ways, but 
was possessed of one very unpleasant fault. Just as 
long as things went exactly to her liking. Miss Dorothy 
beamed at the world through a pair of shining blue 
eyes. But if any trifling incident happened to dis- 
turb the charm, the little lady resolutely lowered her 
eye-lids, pressed her lips tightly together, and indulged 
in a long and silent fit of "the sulks." 

One morning, when the children were busily sewing, 
some perverse bit of carelessness made Dorothy tear 

15 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

her card. I offered her another but that also she tore 
into small pieces because of her anger at the first mis- 
fortune. Still another met the same fate. Then I said 
gravely, 

"Dorothy, let me help with this new card." 

"Sha'nt !" cried the child angrily. "I won't sew any 
more old cards !" 

"But," said I, "if you don't you know you will not 
have your book ready for Christmas and that will 
make you very sorry. You must work the card, but 
I will help you and it will not be hard work." 

Dorothy said nothing, but withdrew into the sullen 
silence, by which she attained her wishes at home. 
Knowing by past experience that persuasion would be 
useless, and that the clouds of gloom would only grow 
darker until school closed, I resolved to try a new ex- 
periment. 

"I am so sorry Dorothy has gone away," I said. 
"But we must be polite to the little visitor who has 
taken her place. Would you like to sit over here where 
our guests sit. Miss Lawrence?" 

This was something entirely new, so the blue eyes 
were lifted for an instant, while, startled from her 
usual silence, the obstinate voice exclaimed indig- 
nantly, 

16 



AIMS AND RESULTS. 

"Tm Dor'fy, an' I b'long here. There aren't any 
vivvytors here this morning." 

"You cmi't belong here," I said gently. "Because 
all my boys and girls try to do what I tell them. You 
frnist be a visitor, so will you please sit over here where 
you can watch the children?" 

Half-undecided whether to consider the proceedings 
as part of a new game, but wholly fascinated by her 
own stubbornness, Miss Dorothy took the seat referred 
to, and for the remainder of the morning sulked to her 
heart's content, peering at the class now and then 
through her fingers. She would not even say good- 
bye, but walked away in dignified displeasure when 
school was out. 

The next morning smiles and sunshine had returned. 
"Good morning," she said, cheerfully. 

"Good morning," I answered. "Is this my little 
girl, or is it the visitor we had yesterday?" 

The child looked at me with a wilful smile. 

"I won't sew that old card !" she announced calmly. 

"Then you have come to visit us again? Please sit 
where you did yesterday." 

Flushed but resolute the child sat down, and the 
morning work went on as usual. The session was 
about half over when two little arms were thrown 

17 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE, 

around my neck and a little voice choked with sobs, 
exclaimed, 

"I is your little girl! I'm tired of bein' a vivvytor. 
Please give Dor'fy her card." 

The impression made on the child's mind was so 
deep that during the whole year nothing more was 
needed to restore sunshine and banish the sulky mood, 
than the quiet question, "Is this Dorothy, or a visitor?" 

Some kinds of punishment are effective only if the 
pupil values our respect and confidence. If he cares 
nothing for us the cessation of our friendship will af- 
fect him little while, on the other hand, if he regards 
us with esteem, the quiet word, even the look of re- 
proof, may be extremely powerful. 

One of the most effectual but severest punishments 
is this same withdrawal of friendship. It should never 
be used except for a very grave fault, and never unless 
the teacher feels a genuine affection for the offender 
and is certain that her love is returned. I have never 
used it but once, and then under peculiar circum- 
stances. While teaching in a country school I was 
greatly attracted by one of the largest pupils, a girl of 
about fifteen. 

Day after day we walked to school together, taking 
the pleasant path across the fields where the goldenrod 

18 



AIMS AND RESULTS. 

grew tall and bright and the bees hummed over the 
late clover. Each was conscious of the other's good- 
will, and each felt the charm and beauty of the autumn 
weather. 

But one day, glancing over some school-work which 
the girl had handed me, I found a note tucked in by 
accident among the problems. It was not meant for 
me, nor would I have read it had I been conscious of 
the act, but before I realized it the sentences had 
printed themselves on my mind, — sentences so de- 
praved and impure that for a moment I sat stunned, 
unable to believe that I had read aright. 

The next day, with tears in my eyes, I spoke to the 
girl, begging her to think of what she was doing and 
to stop at once. She did not try to deny what admitted 
of no denial, but promised never to write, or even to 
think, such thoughts again. In less than a week, how- 
ever, I had positive evidence that she had broken her 
word. Aghast at the thought of the terrible influence 
she might exert, I kept her after school that afternoon. 
Putting my arm around her as she sat white and mis- 
erable at her desk, I said : 

"Laura, do you like me?" 

"You know I do," she sobbed. 

"I hoped you did," I answered. "But it is hard to 

19 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

believe it when you do things which make me sorry 

and ashamed, when even the memory of a most solemn 

promise is powerless to restrain you from wrong. But 

because I have a lingering faith in your love, and a 

confidence that you are still capable of better things, 

I will try to help you. My first impulse was to refuse to 

keep you in the school because of the evil influence 

you might exert, but I shall put that influence out of 

your power. Because I cannot help caring for you, 

because I pity you, I shall help you to remember not 

to repeat this fault. For a month you must come and 

go alone. No one will speak to you. You will eat your 

lunch by yourself. I will hear you recite your lessons, 

but in no other way will I speak to or notice you. You 

are to speak to no one, not even to me, except when 

you need help in school work. This seems hard, and it 

is hard, but you have forfeited the right to be treated 

like the other pupils, and for your own sake as well as 

for theirs, I must make you remember and be sorry." 

The next day at morning exercises I explained to the 

school that Laura had done something very wrong, for 

which she was sorry, but for which she would have to 

be punished. Since the evil had been going on long 

before I had come to the school, almost all the older 

pupils understood what was meant and knew that the 

punishment was just. 

20 



AIMS AND RESULTS. 

The month that followed seemed very long to me, 
as well as to the girl. For twenty days Laura came 
and went alone, hearing the merry chatter of her 
school-mates but never offering to join it. My heart 
ached for her and more than once I was tempted to 
shorten the time. 

The end of the twenty days came at last, however, 
and in the hush of the little schoolroom Laura and I 
shook hands in a new friendship which has never been 
broken, while she whispered softly, *T am truly sorry, 
and you will never have to punish me again." 

I thought then and still think that this severe penalty 
was needed under the circumstances, but I would not 
have dared to inflict it had I not known that the girl 
cared for me. Suspension, even expulsion, would have 
been kinder had there not been real confidence on both 
sides. 

But however severe the punishment may be, the road 
to forgiveness should be made as easy as possible. The 
pupil should feel that if he has forfeited respect he may 
still regain it, and that this wall give us the highest 
pleasure. 

All punishment should have for its aim, not retribu- 
tion but restoration and when this is the aim the results 
will be plainly evident. 

21 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

A great sculptor was once seen standing in front 
of a rough block of marble, gazing at it with great in- 
tentness. 

''There is no beauty in that rough block," a friend 
said to him, "Why do you stand there gazing at it?" 

"Ah !" said the sculptor, "when I look, I see not the 
rough unpolished stone, but the image of the Christ 
which I hope some day I may have the skill to carve and 
shape." 

So, as teachers, if we would obtain the best results 
from out work, we must see as we gaze at the faces of 
our pupils, not the rough surface, the faults which are 
apparent to all who pass, the little oddities which often 
annoy and displease; nay! we must look deeper, and 
see the image of the Christ, which makes beautiful the 
children He loves; and then, with reverent care, we 
may, if we will, help to carve and shape each childish 
soul until all shall recognize in it the beauty and maj- 
esty of the Divine. 



22 



CONTACT WITH HOME ENVIRONMENT. 



11. 

Contact with Home Environment. 

Every true teacher as she comes before her class 
realizes the value of each key to the different natures 
and characteristics of her pupils. 

There are many of these keys, each important, — each 
indeed almost indispensable to any real success in deal- 
ing with various temperaments. One is intuition, that 
act of the mind which enables one to understand char- 
acter quickly and clearly without stopping to reason 
over it. Another is the study of child-nature, pure and 
simple. By this I mean the study, not of individual 
children alone, but of childhood itself, its primitive in- 
stincts, emotions and desires. Another key to which 
I wish to call attention, is a knowledge of, and contact 
with, the home-environment of each pupil. 

In many colleges at the beginning of each college 
year the professors give receptions or teas to small 
groups of freshmen; six, eight, or ten at the most, be- 
ing invited at one time. These affairs are purposely 

23 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

made as informal as possible and the guests are en- 
couraged to talk freely of their hopes and ambitions, 
of the friends they have just left, and the life from 
which they have just come. Why is this? Is it not 
because thoughtful minds are beginning to realize that 
the highest training, even along purely intellectual lines, 
can be given only after a thorough knowledge of the 
home influences previously exerted over the student? 
If this is true concerning pupils of comparatively ma- 
ture years, how much more important should such 
knowledge seem to the teachers of little children in 
whose lives influences have not yet crystallized into 
character. 

What is a child? Some one has said that he is his 
grandfather, his mother, the cook in the kitchen, the 
grocer boy and the next-door neighbor, all in one; 
meaning of course that the child in the home uncon- 
sciously absorbs and reflects the characters of those 
around him. 

Come with me into a school-room and let us see if 
there is indeed any practical value in a knowledge of 
this home life. We will take for the purpose a first- 
year class, little five-year-olds who have just entered 
upon the wider life of school. Let us select almost at 
random from the forty or fifty pupils present a few 
types which may serve as illustrations. 

24 



CONTACT WITH HOME ENVIRONMENT. 

Here sits Johnny Smith, with his square-set, reso- 
lute face bent over his slate. He is slow but sure. He 
never talks. All his attention is concentrated upon the 
task before him. His teacher considers him almost a 
model pupil. Steady, accurate in all his work, earnest 
and faithful over the slightest details, is it any wonder 
that she surveys him with proud confidence ? Ah ! but 
wait ! Some day she asks him to repeat a word. He 
has done it many times before without question, but 
this time to her amazement the square jaw grows 
dogged, the brows draw themselves together and there 
is an ominous silence. Coaxing, commanding, are 
alike of no avail. A dumb devil seems to have taken 
possession of Johnny. 

The teacher sighs. She recalls Johnny's mother, a 
meek little woman afraid to say her soul is her own. It 
certainly cannot be home influence at fault here, she 
thinks. But stop! She suddenly remembers a timid 
whisper from Mrs. Smith on the first day of school. 
"Johnny's a real good boy, teacher, but — but some- 
times he gits stubborn fits. 'Tisn't his fault. He 
takes after his father." 

And then she thinks of Johnny's father. He is one 
of the pillars in the church to which he belongs. You 
can depend on him for help in every good work. He 

25 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

knows his own mind, and if you "play his way," he 
will support you through thick and thin. But suddenly 
something displeases him. It may be the veriest trifle. 
The cause is immaterial. The effects are always the 
same. His brows grow heavy with resolution, his lips 
meet in a straight line, his jaw is set like a vise. The 
entire membership may plead with him. His best 
friends may beseech him with tears to yield to the 
will of the majority. He will leave the church, and 
take his wife and children with him sooner than give 
up his opinion. It is from his father that Johnny gets 
that heritage of iron determination. It is too late to 
mould big John ; upon little Johnny the teacher of in- 
finite patience may work a miracle. And do you not 
suppose that she will feel for him more pity and for- 
bearance as she realizes that to a certain extent it is his 
misfortune, not his fault, that she witnesses? 

Next to John sits Marian, a pretty, rosy-cheeked lit- 
tle lassie with dimpled fingers and dancing eyes. At 
recess she is surrounded by a crowd of admirers. A 
game is chosen. Perhaps it is "tag," and some one 
cries mischievously, "It's Marian's turn to be 'it' to- 
day!" 

"I'm not going to," Marian answers. 

"Oh! yes, you must. It's your turn." 

"Well! I don't care. I don't want to. And I sha'n't! 

26 



CONTACT WITH HOME ENVIRONMENT. 

And nobody can make me ! And I hate you all, you 
mean, nasty, ugly, horrid things !" 

The rosy cheeks are hot with passion, the dimpled 
hands are tightly clinched, and the small form fairly 
trembles with rage. 

Some good-natured child interposes, "I'll be 'it' once 
more. I don't mind," and immediately the smiles re- 
turn and Marian is her sunny-tempered self again. 

Would it not help the teacher to understand and to 
deal more wisely with these sudden metamorphoses if 
she knew that Marian, as the youngest of a large fam- 
ily, discovered even in infancy that the quickest way 
to obtain her wishes was to fly into a passion and make 
life so "lively" that everyone would promptly yield 
obedience to her desires? Now at the age of five the 
pretty tyrant exacts homage from every member of 
the home circle, from gray-haired grandpa down to 
ten-year-old Teddy, and woe betide the unlucky mor- 
tal who dares to question her decrees ! 

That is Nelson over there in the corner, writing sen- 
tences from dictation. A word which he cannot spell 
is given by the teacher. Casting a hasty glance in her 
direction to see that she is not watching, he looks at 
the slate held by the child in front of him, then quickly 
copies the word. Nothing very grave, you say. But 

27 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

shall I introduce you to Nelson's mother? She is the 
woman who puts a white penny on the plate when there 
is a silver collection. She is the one who hints at all 
manner of evil against the absent, so slyly and subtly 
that no one can trace the false report directly back to 
her. She is the one who twists and alters your words 
so artfully that you stare aghast at your own state- 
ments. Do you not think that any earnest teacher, if 
she were aware of this maternal failing, would deal 
gravely, yet gently, with the first manifestations of the 
fault in a new generation, while she tried to put into 
that young soul a little of the leaven of frankness? "* 

That is Charlie next. He has taken almost "all the 
seat, you notice. His seat-mate is crowded to the ex- 
treme edge. The desk, intended to be shared together, 
is filled with Charlie's belongings. Ji-'st before 'the 
number lesson, colored sticks are passed. Each child 
takes a handful from the box until it comes to Charlie. 
He picks and chooses the brightest colors and helps 
himself to a double share. 

If the teacher will go back in thought to the first 
morning of school she will know the reason for these 
small but significant manifestations of selfishness. 
Does she not remember that it took both Charlie's 
mother and grandmother to "start him to school?" 

28 



CONTACT WITH HOME ENVIRONMENT. 

Has she forgotten the solos and choruses they sang in 
praise of his wisdom and brightness? Perhaps she 
may recall the fact that while they chanted his praises 
he calmly appropriated the best chair in the room, re- 
gardless of the fact that it was already occupied by a 
little girl ; whereupon his relatives, instead of feeling 
embarrassed by the action, exchanged admiring glances 
with the remark, "Charlie always knows how to take 
care of Number One." 

With that picture fresh in her mind will the teacher 
have for the boy more of blame than pity ? 

Wee Grace, just opposite Nelson, is busily writing 

answers to a column of examples. 4-f 2=6, 3 3=0. 

7—2=? . Ah! that is a puzzler! The brown head is 
shaking sadly. The brown eyes gaze steadily at the 
hard problem. The other children hand in their work. 
Grace is not ready. Recess comes. Still she sits there. 
At last the teacher goes to her and says, "Let me help 
you, Gracie." The child lifts her flushed face and an- 
swers bravely, "Mamma tells me to try my best before 
I let any one help me. I think I can do it pretty soon, 
thank you." 

It is a small incident, yet it speaks volumes for the 
home influence exerted upon that child, and when the 
right answer is obtained, the teacher, if her insight is 

29 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

keen, will realize a little of the sympathetic admiration 
that will thrill the mother heart when the story is re- 
lated to her. 

The child's contact with home environment con- 
sciously and unconsciously influences his whole life. 
The more closely the teacher comes into contact with 
that home environment the broader will be her sym- 
pathy for her pupils, and the deeper her knowledge 
of their highest needs, their capabilities and limitations. 
In many cases the influence of the home needs only to 
be aided. In other cases it must be counteracted with 
all the skill and determination which she possesses. 

By such contact with the home, parents soon realize 
the teacher's interest in their children. Almost all 
fathers and mothers are desirous that their boys and 
girls shall have the best. They may not understand 
what that best is, nor how it may be obtained, but the 
desire is there, and almost invariably even the most 
ignorant parents will make sacrifices for the little ones 
if they see that the children's interests will be advanced 
thereby. 

I had in my class last year a tiny German Jew who 
had an extremely awkward habit of covering his mouth 
with his hand whenever he spoke. It was not only an 
exceedingly clumsy motion but had the effect of trans- 

30 



CONTACT WITH HOME ENVIRONMENT. 

forming the little fellow, changing the natural frank- 
ness of childhood into a look of mingled slyness and 
cunning. 

The child tried his best to overcome this custom, 
but it had really become habitual, so to help him I sug- 
gested that he should let me tie his handkerchief around 
his arm each time he forgot. This was not intended 
in any sense as a punishment and neither he nor the 
other children regarded it as such. The sight of the 
white band simply helped him to remember. 

One afternoon, however, both he and I forgot to 
remove the handkerchief before he went home. A few 
minutes after school had closed I heard a thundering 
knock at the door, and the next instant in came the big- 
gest, brawniest German Jew I have ever seen. 

"See here, teacher," he exclaimed, angrily, clapping 
his hand to his mouth. *'Vot for did you tie up mine 
Isaac's hand mit dis rag? Hy! Vot for was das? He 
goot leetle poy. He no pad in school." 

The situation was somewhat embarrassing, but I re- 
solved to be perfectly frank. 

"Isaac is a good boy," I said pleasantly, "I didn't 
tie his arm to punish him. It was only to help him 
remember not to put his hand across his mouth." 

"Vyisdas? I puts mm^' hand dere, too. Vot harm 
is das?" 

31 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

"There isn't any real harm in it," I answered, "But 
Isaac looks so different when he doesn't do- it. And he 
will have so much better chance in life if he can break 
himself of the habit." 

*'Vell ! veil ! Mine crashus ! You t'ink sooch a lettle 
t'ing vill hurt der poy?" 

"I know it will. You see, it gives him a sly look and 
we don't like sly persons." 

"Yah ! I see. I vill 'tend to it mineself, too. You 
help him in der school und I vill help him in der home. 
I never knowed sooch leetle t'ings made mooch 
diff'rence." 

The next day Isaac came to school beaming with 
proud satisfaction. 

"Mine fader, he got his arm tied oop, too!" he an- 
nounced with elation. "Mine fader und me, ve go all 
aroundt mit our arms tied!" 

I smiled at the picture presented to my mind, but 
there was something touching to me in the fact that 
that ignorant father was willing to subject himself to 
inconvenience for the sake of his son, and what was 
true of that parent is equally true of countless others. 

Parents and teachers alike — working in sympathy 
for the children's highest good — that is the ideal con- 
ception of education. We have not attained to it yet, in 

32 



CONTACT WITH HOME ENVIRONMENT. 

all cases, but every effort made by a father or mother 
to understand the aims and methods of their children's 
teacher, and each endeavor made by the teacher to get 
into sympathetic touch with the home environment of 
her pupils, not only aids in the teaching of the "three 
R's" but gives to the children a spiritual uplift more 
valuable than all the lessons in the school books. 



glimpse:s of child nature. 



III. 

The Child's Ideals. 

Many writers on education have said that no teacher 
can do her best work unless she understands and can 
appeal to the child's ideals of life. Let us try to dis- 
cover what those ideals are. 

When a child first comes to school, he unconsciously 
mirrors and reflects his home life. His speech, his 
movements, his habits are all eloquent of the influences 
which have surrounded him. He cannot, if he would, 
conceal them. His horizon has been narrow, but he 
has been a keen observer and faithful imitator of all 
that came within its bounds. 

In many kindergartens the pupils play a game which 
is called, ''Did You Ever See This?" Each child in 
turn goes to the middle of the ring and shows some 
action, singing as he does so, "Did you ever see a 
farmer, (carpenter, mason or whatever the case may 
be) do this way or that way?" 

It is extremely interesting to note the development 

34 



THE CHILD'S IDEALS. 

of thought on the part of the small actors. During the 
first few days of school they invariably choose occupa- 
tions that are familiar to them in the home: for in- 
stance, we shall see a dozen tiny mothers, rocking the 
baby, sweeping, baking, etc., while other children, en- 
tirely regardless of sex will choose to be fathers, sift- 
ing ashes, gardening, reading the newspaper, — all 
giving very vivid portrayals of the maternal and pater- 
nal characteristics and showing plainly that the life 
about them has been of the deepest interest to them. 

In the course of a few weeks, however, the horizon 
of thought broadens considerably. New ideals of oc- 
cupation open before the little ones. We have drum- 
mers, bakers, soldiers, shoemakers, blacksmiths and 
many other representatives of different trades. Some 
choose to be birds, flying or building nests, squirrels 
gathering nuts for winter, mice scampering softly 
across the floor, snowflakes fluttering above the sleep- 
ing flowers. All are brought closer and closer into 
sympathetic touch with the teeming life of nature, un- 
til each childish soul, conscious for the first time of 
the great world of which it is a part, reaches out to- 
wards the light and is eager to be led higher and 
higher. 

Here is Laura Tomusky. She lives with her father 

36 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

and mother, her six brothers and four sisters, in two 
tiny rooms, which contain two or three chairs, a stove, 
a table and perhaps two beds. Her father has a play- 
ful habit of throwing his furniture at his wife at least 
once a week, to the great detriment of both. Across 
the hall lives Mrs. Maloney, in an elegant set of four 
rooms, with a carpet on one of them. Patrick, her 
husband, does not "get drunk" oftener than once a 
month, and then his wife gives him the "ind av the 
broomstick." Ask Laura how she would like to live, 
if she could, and she will tell you frankly and honestly, 
with a sigh of longing, "Just like Mrs. Maloney !" 

We smile, but that is the best the child knows and 
she yearns for that best. And what is true of Laura is 
true of all normal children. Their ideals of life and 
thought are the highest that have been presented to 
them. They may not live up to them, they may not 
even try to attain them, but they have their moments 
of longing for them. 

What can the teacher do to help the child in this 
direction? She can present to him her own higher 
ideals. The thoughts of childhood are mutable. They 
can be influenced very easily by the skillful teacher. 
She can incite each pupil to put forth his most earnest 
effort in all honest work. If she is satisfied with any- 

36 



THE CHILD'S IDEALS. 

thing lower than his best he will give her what costs 
him the least trouble. 

In a certain school-room the children had been told 
to copy rows of squares on their slates for busy work. 
At the end of one aisle sat Harry Williams, scratch- 
ing away as fast as he could. Every two or three 
minutes he raised his hand. The teacher, glancing up 
from her work, would say, "Well, Harry?" When 
he brought his slate up she would look at it hastily and 
exclaim, "How lovely, just rub them out and start 
over again." Yet she knew and Harry knew, too, that 
he had not tried in the least. The busy work had been 
given simply to fill time. There was no thought of 
its possible effect on the pupil's character, yet I hon- 
estly believe that by praising, nay, by even accepting 
that careless work that teacher had lowered the boy's 
standard of effort in every direction. 

Children admire goodness in the abstract. I never 
yet saw a child admire his own faults when he saw 
them manifested in another. The selfish boy likes the 
unselfish one, the girl with the hasty temper very often 
chooses for her dearest friend a child who is her exact 
opposite. 

Children respect courage. They will listen enthralled 
to stories of bravery. They yield untiring and enthu- 

37 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

siastic devotion to the world's great heroes as soon as 
they become acquainted with their history. I have 
seen classes listen entranced to the story of Miles 
Standish, the doughty little captain of Plymouth fame. 
They felt a thrill of personal pride in his exploits, in 
his daring, and in his shrewd wit, yet were easily led 
to see that the bravest man is he who conquers his own 
spirit, and that the truest victories the Captain gained 
were those he won over his quick temper. 

Children admire honesty and truth. Nine-tenths of 
the falsehoods they tell have their origin in one of 
three causes, and are invited by adults. Those most 
common in the school-room are, first, lies told from 
fear; second, imitative lies of expediency; and third, 
those told from a desire to gain or hold approval. 

A teacher leaves the room for a few moments and 
puts the children on their honor to behave well while 
she is absent. When she returns she may find the class 
in perfect order. Now it is not at all likely that some 
one of those forty pupils has not been in mischief dur- 
ing her absence. It may be true. She may have so im- 
bued them with the spirit of work that none of the 
forty have wandered from the path of duty, but if she is 
wise she will not inquire too closely into what has hap- 
pened. If she does, she is inviting deceit. It may be 

38 



THE CHILD'S IDEALS. 

that a timid, sensitive child has been in disorder. Fear- 
ing the punishment which he thinks may be bestowed, 
his impulse will be to deny his action. Another child, 
bolder and more outspoken by nature, has yielded to 
the temptation to play a little when the opportunity 
came so unexpectedly, yet he values the teacher's good 
opinion. He is desirous of her approval, and while the 
thought of punishment has no effect upon him, the 
other motive will urge him to deny the deed. 

Lies of imitation are fully as common. Mrs. Jones 
inquires of Mrs. Brown, "Why didn't you come with 
us yesterday to call on Mrs. Jennings?" '"Oh!" Mrs. 
Brown answers carelessly, "I would have gone, but I 
was very sick all day." Little Lucy Brown, listening, 
knows this is not true. It is not unnatural, then, that 
the next day when asked why her lesson has not been 
prepared Lucy answers hastily, "I would have studied 
it but I had a dreadful headache" or "My hand ached 
so that I couldn't write." 

The girl has learned her lesson of deceit already, and 
if the teacher readily accepts these excuses and can 
substitute no higher ideal, these falsehoods of expe- 
diency will grow more and more numerous. 

I have said before that the teacher's ideals are, in 
large measure, impressed upon her class. This is more 

39 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

strikingly true than we care to realize. Moment by 
moment of the three, four or five hours of association, 
she stamps her words, her looks, her thoughts upon 
the plastic minds of the little ones. She cannot escape 
the responsibility of her influence no matter how much 
she may desire to do so. The fact remains, deny it or 
evade it as she may, that where the home environment 
is weak or bad, and indeed in many cases where it is 
neither, the teacher's influence is most effective and 
abiding. The child's natural impulse is to surround 
her with a halo of glory and he is ready and willing 
to offer homage at her throne. He offers her the 
choicest gifts, chocolate mice with their tails nibbled 
off but "all the rest as good as ever," withered leaves 
gathered on the road to school, almanacs of last year, 
picture cards, penny photographs of himself, and a 
hundred other things worthless in themselves, but of 
great value after all, for they represent the ingenuous 
love of childhood. Can she afford to ignore or to 
despise this influence? Should she not, instead, mar- 
vel at the wonderful power she may exercise over these 
eager minds, being thrice careful that no hasty word 
or act shall destroy the love and confidence which they 
bear her? 

Parents are often responsible for mischievous acts 

40 



THE CHILD'S IDEALS. 

on the part of their children. Mr. Mills was telling 
Tommy about his vanished school days. 

"My boy," said he, "when I went to school I was a 
terror to my teacher. I remember one day when I 
wrote April Fool on Johnny Grigg's collar with ink, 
and how the teacher just hopped, he was so angry?" 

Tommy listened and burned with emulation. The 
next day he walked to school resolved to distinguish 
himself in the parental eyes. It was not the first of 
April nor had he yet attained the dignity of writing 
with ink, but he was not to be daunted. A nice, quiet 
little girl in a bright red dress, sat in front of him and 
Tommy's quick brain resolved not to lose the chance. 
Taking a piece of white chalk he wrote in big letters 
on the back of Susie's dress, PIGY. It was not long 
before the teacher discovered the bold deed. Tommy 
confessed his guilt, was sentenced to stay till half-past 
four, and (oh! crowning touch of ignominy!) write 
PIGGY three hundred times on his slate. 

It so happened that his father came home early that 
afternoon, desirous of sending Tommy on an errand. 
As the moments passed, and the boy did not return, 
the father's anger rose. Tommy at last arrived, for- 
lorn and dirty from a mixture of tears and slate-dust. 
Pride spoke in the tones of his voice, however, as he 

41 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

related his story, confident that he would receive ample 
sympathy and admiration from his parent. But to his 
deep astonishment father Mills does not take the only 
rational view of the occurrence. He proceeds to in- 
flict hasty and humiliating punishment upon his young 
son, and Tommy, as he is laid across the paternal knee, 
meditates bitterly on the "difference it makes whether 
it's your father or you that does things." 

That father had created a mistaken ideal in the heart 
of his rash imitator, and, as is the case only too often, 
youth suffered for the indiscretion of maturity. 

I once heard a teacher say, "Oh, well, it's all very 
nice for primary teachers to talk about training and 
developing the child's ideals. I'd like to know what 
to do with a class of big boys and girls who think they 
are ideals, themselves." 

We all know what she meant. There comes a time 
in the life of almost all boys and girls when they get a 
disease that is not curable by any drug. It is worse 
than the measles or the mumps, for it lasts longer. It 
is not at all unpleasant to the patient, indeed, it is dis- 
tinctly pleasurable. He wonders how the world ever 
managed to roll around before his advent. From the 
height of his wisdom he looks down in pity upon his 
unfortunate parents and friends. His supreme sur- 

42 



THE CHILD'S IDEALS. 

prise is that there are so few Hkc him. Some unkind 
persons diagnose this complaint as "swelled head," 
others describe it as a case of "know it all." 

In the more violent phases the patient manifests an 
intense desire to enlighten the dense ignorance of those 
around him, and gives gratuitous advice and informa- 
tion, in season and out of season. 

The best thing a teacher can do when she comes in 
contact with a class or pupil so afflicted, is to be as 
patient as she can, remembering that time works mir- 
acles, and that we have, almost all of us, "been there 
ourselves," at one time or another. 

The boy's or the girl's ideal, even in that self-satis- 
fied period, is not self, after all. Saving gleams of 
common sense do glimmer across his or her conscious- 
ness, and if the teacher be true to her standard of duty 
her pupils will feel, even against their will, the uplift- 
ing of that tremendous unseen motor force which we 
call character. 

Last of all, let us not forget that the highest ideal 
of each human being is the divine. Deep in every heart 
is the yearning, confessed or unspoken, for the touch of 
God, and the closer any teacher lives to the great 
Teacher, Christ, although her lips may never speak of 
religion, the higher will be her own ideals, — the higher 
those of her pupils. 

43 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 



IV. 

Teaching by Stories. 

One of the most potent forces in teaching is story* 
telHng. Its vakie can hardly be over-estimated, al- 
though teachers are just beginning to appreciate the 
fact. In no other way can truth of any kind be pre- 
sented so clearly and strikingly as through the medium 
of a story. The child devours it eagerly and desires 
more. The only condition he makes is that the story 
shall be a genuine one and not consist of dry facts var- 
nished over with a gloss of fiction. 

Many writers of text-books for children make great 
mistakes along this line. Perceiving the avidity with 
which the little readers accept information in narrative 
form, they rashly conclude that any scientific abstrac- 
tion may be presented and will prove fascinating if it 
only masquerades in the guise of a story. 

I saw, not long ago, a set of nature readers beauti- 
fully illustrated in colors. The author had written a 
short preface in which she said, "Long and close ob- 

44 



TEACHING BY STORIES. 

servation has convinced me that scientific facts will be 
absorbed with enthusiasm by young readers, if couched 
in interesting story language." This assertion being 
indisputable, I opened the first book with pleasant an- 
ticipations. 

On the first page was a picture of a dainty blue vio- 
let. Underneath it were the words : 

"How do you do, children ? I am your friend, little 
blue violet. My roots are long and fibrous, possess- 
ing tiny tentacular filaments which cling to the earth. 
My stem contains a watery fluid which exudes in in- 
finitesimal drops when an abrasion occurs. My leaves 
are broad at the basal extremity, but taper at the top," 
etc. 

We can easily picture the enthusiasm with which 
children would scan the pages of this fascinating nar- 
rative ! yet I suppose the author thought she had writ- 
ten an entertaining story of a violet. She had not been 
able to come down to the level of her readers, — that 
was all. 

The fault is more common than at first thought 
seems possible. A careful examination of many of the 
geographies, nature readers, and text-books in natural 
history, designed for the lowest grades, reveals the 
fact that they are above the child's understanding and 

45 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

that he derives strangely erroneous impressions from 
them. Deceived by the simpHcity of the opening sen- 
tences the authors themselves fancy that they have 
written tales of interest and profit ; charmed by the mul- 
tiplicity of the facts set forth, the school board de- 
cides that the children under its care will be the better 
for so much information, and invests in the books; 
the teachers labor to make the new lessons intelligible, 
and the children are the only ones undeceived by the 
glittering promises held out to them. They read the 
book, of course, since stern necessity decrees that they 
must. Perhaps they derive some comfort from the 
illustrations, which mercifully try to make amends for 
the text, but each child knows in his inmost heart that 
the story is but a hollow mockery, a miserable pretence. 

If, however, a real story, in which information is 
so cunningly interwoven with the warp and woof that 
it has become a part of the fabric, be substituted for the 
imitation, listlessness quickly changes to interest, while 
attention is roused and centered. 

Powerful as the written story is, the one told face to 
face with a group of listeners is ten times more so. A 
good story poorly told is worth more than the same 
story well read. The children feel the magnetism of 
voice and eye more fully when the book is discarded. 

46 



TEACHING BY STORIES. 

There is no lesson in the entire curriculum where 
this help may not, at times, be utilized. History, geog- 
raphy, language, even arithmetic may be transformed 
by its aid. The thoughtful teacher knows that there is 
no surer road to the heart than along the well-beaten 
line in question, and this is true, irrespective of the lis- 
tener's age. 

What does the kindergartener do on that crucial first 
morning of school when Johnny's eyes are brimmed 
with tears, when Katie mourns loudly for the mother 
she never appreciated before, when even wee Jamie, 
who was so proud to start out in the world, looks 
around the big strange room and bites his lips that he 
may not betray his weakness — what does she do then ? 

Does she let them march and clap their hands ? No, 
for she knows very well that the noise would only 
frighten the timid ones still more. Does she teach 
them one of the games they will afterwards enjoy? 
No, not in the first hard half-hour. She simply gath- 
ers them close around her and takes the tiniest one on 
her lap while she tells them a story — tells it as well as 
she can, conscious that at no other time will she need 
to put forth more effort, — a simple story of a black 
kitty, a gray mouse, or the birds all children love. And 
when she feels the little fingers clasp her hand and sees 

47 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

that Johnny has forgotten to cry, she knows that the 
battle is won and the rest will be easy. It may be that 
her kitten has suggested a lion to Harry, or Jack may 
suddenly exclaim, "I once see a squir'l up a tree!" but 
these are mere trifles, the important thing being that 
teacher and child have come into sympathetic relations. 

What is true of small children is just as true of older 
ones. I have seen many a large, hitherto unruly boy 
yield unhesitating and unswerving allegiance to a 
teacher who has presented high ideals to him in story 
form. 

Anyone may tell a story and tell it successfully if 
three things are kept in mind. First, choose some- 
thing interesting to the audience to which it is to be 
given. Many truths which are of great interest to 
boys and girls of fourteen or fifteen have no attraction 
for children of five or six. The mental development 
of the latter is not sufficiently advanced to enable them 
to grasp the thought. On the other hand, older pupils 
often feel insulted when "baby" stories are told them. 
They feel, and rightly, that they have grown beyond 
the stage when their "mental pabulum" must be di- 
luted. But the story-teller may remember for her own 
comfort that any story which touches the vital springs 
of life and action will never be outgrown, and will be 

48 



TEACHING BY STORIES. 

heard with as much pleasure by the white-haired man 
as the golden-haired child. 

Second, tell the story as simply as possible. The 
fewer words of six syllables that are used, the better. 
Choose the shortest, crispest, most vigorous words that 
will express the meaning, for it is certain that the sim- 
pler and clearer the thought is made the more charm it 
holds for the listeners. 

Third, make each sentence vivid. Voice, glance, 
gesture, may all be used to rivet the attention ; a three- 
fold advantage which, the Greeks declared, make tlie 
orator more powerful than the writer. Let each char- 
acter live. "Columbus discovered America." We 
have all read the familiar statement. It means much to 
all of us. But how the words glow and shine, and 
how many pictures they suggest if we have had a 
teacher who brought us into touch with the thrilling, 
throbbing life of those vanished days! 

The ancient conquerers of Greece and Italy, the 
Kings and Queens of England or of France, the heroes 
of our own land or of other countries, the great men 
and women of the centuries, — what are they to us? 
Simply names that linger in our .memories like dull 
embers among ashes ? or are they like splendid torches 
illuminating the vast picture gallery of the ages? 

49 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

If the latter is the case, then we owe the deepest 
gratitude to those teachers, who, by the written page or 
the spoken word, have enriched our imagination and 
given to us a heritage of priceless value. 

One more caution; if there is a moral underlying 
the tale, do not call attention to it with every breath. 
A teacher who begins by saying, "Now I want to tell 
a story to illustrate the folly of selfishness," then pro- 
ceeds for a moment and again remarks, "This story, 
as I said, illustrates the folly of selfishness," and con- 
tinue to state the fact every few minutes until she 
closes, has wearied her listeners and weakened her 
story. 

I knew an old lady whose little granddaughter, Ma- 
bel, was insatiable in her demands for narratives of 
almost any kind. Father, mother, uncles, aunts, even 
the "stranger in the gates" were all levied upon, and 
when the child went to spend the summer in the coun- 
try, grandma was warned of this propensity and urged 
to have a few stories ready. The good old lady did her 
best. She called into existence a mythical Emily whose 
virtues were so wonderful and whose goodness was so 
unfailing that human nature rebelled at her perfec- 
tion. 

Mabel listened to six tales with her customary po- 

50 



TEACHING BY STORIES. 

liteness, six histories related in the gentle monotonous 
voice with the accompanying reminders, "You see, 
dear, how kind Emily was," or "From this you will 
notice little Emily's unfailing good temper," etc. 

At the end of the sixth narrative Mabel sighed and 
inquired, 

"Grandma, do you know many stories about little 
Em'ly?" 

"Yes, indeed," much flattered by the question, "I 
know a great many, my dear." 

"And is she as good every time as she has been in 
these six?" 

"Better, darling. Little Emily always did the best 
thing possible. You like her ever so much, don't you?" 

Mabel sighed again. "Grandma," she said gently, 
"You won't feel hurt if I tell you something, will you? 
I'm so-sick-and-tired-of -little Em'ly that I don't know 
what to do !" 

The child instinctively felt that the character held 
up for her admiration was a mere puppet, while the 
stories themselves were really sermons, from which 
all life and spirit had been taken in the mistaken en- 
deavor to fit them for her comprehension. 

"But," some teacher says, "where can I find the 
right kind of stories, and how can I be sure the chil- 
dren will listen ?" 

51 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

The second question needs no answer. Are you 
sure the flower in the shadow will turn its face to the 
sunshine ? Do you know that the bee will seek the honey 
hidden in the pink clover, or the wood thrush hush 
her own song to hearken to that of her mate. Just so 
surely will the children listen to the true story-teller, 
with a wealth of love and gratitude that will endure 
forever. 

As for the stories, we may find them everywhere ; in 
old books, in new books and in no books. Had we 
eyes to see and ears to hear, we might well wonder at 
our riches. The man we pass on the street, the pebble 
in the bed of the little stream, the flower nodding from 
the craggy rock, the silver stars gleaming from the 
misty sky, the white waves rolling up along the shore, 
the drops of rain tinkling on the roof, the rosy-cheeked 
boy and girl at play, the dear old grandmother in the 
home, — all the familiar things with which we come in 
contact every day will furnish us with charming 
themes. 

There is no need for dearth, no need that anyone 
should say sorrowfully, "I have nothing to tell." 

Come, then, story-teller, open your heart and lips 

and speak to the young hearts that are waiting, until 

they see aright the past, the present, and the glory of 

the unseen future whose promise may be fulfilled by 

their aid. 

52 



TRAINING THE WILL. 



V. 

Training the Will, 

Long, long ago, when Adam and Eve roamed to- 
gether through the garden of Eden, they had one law 
which God had given them, and that was the law of 
obedience. 

Many years later, when Paradise was but a beauti- 
ful dream, a legend repeated again and again by Israel- 
itish parents to their children, God spoke through 
Moses and gave the Ten Commandments with their 
emphatic "Thou-shalts" and "Thou-shalt-nots." 

From the earliest childhood of each individual and 
each race the law of obedience stands out as one of 
primary importance, reaching farther and farther in 
its scope — obedience to parents, to teachers, to the state, 
to some divine authority dimly guessed at or distinctly 
recognized. There can be no government without law. 
There can be no freedom unless there is obedience 
to law. 

How does this universal fact affect us as teachers? 

53 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

What influence does it exert upon the pupils with 
whom we come in contact? 

I once saw a teacher stand beside a tiny child who 
had disobeyed her, and say to me while her own eyes 
flashed and her cheeks were scarlet, "This girl has the 
most stubborn nature in the world. But I'll break her 
will or die doing it." 

She did not mean that, of course. There is no value 
to a parent or a teacher, either, in a broken will. A 
drunken man went reeling along the street not long 
ago, hooted at by a crowd of boys. He had lost con- 
trol of himself physically, mentally and morally. He 
was a fine example of an individual with a broken will. 
But what was he worth at that moment to his family, 
to the city, to his country? Absolutely nothing. 

What we really want is a trained will, a will which 
has been taught to distinguish right from wrong and 
choose the right. This result cannot be produced in a 
day. The building of character is slow work, requir- 
ing the utmost love and patience. Children are not 
always the best judges of what is wise. There are 
times when some one must decide for them and if they 
have been taught to yield obedience to such decisions 
they may be saved much needless pain and suffering. 
Some parents act as if their children possess super- 

54 



TRAINING THE WILL. 

natural stores of wisdom, transcending their own conj- 
mon sense and the knowledge they have gained by 
experience. 

May was detained from school for a week last year. 
Her teacher heard that she had been very ill with the 
croup and decided to visit her on Friday and cheer her 
up a little. The day was cold and rainy, but when 
Miss Miller came in sight of the house, what was her 
surprise to see the little girl, bare-headed and without 
rubbers, playing in the puddles. 

"Why, May!" she cried in horror. "Does your 
mother know you are out here?" 
"Oh, yes-sum!" 

"But I thought you had been ill with the croup.*' 
"Oh I I have," was the cheerful answer. "I've been 
orful sick. The doctor was here twicet night before 
last." 

The teacher walked on slowly, meditating over the 
situation. At last she retraced her steps, thinking it 
must be impossible that the mother knew where the 
child was. She rang the door bell and in a moment 
Mrs. Griggs appeared, looking pale and anxious. 
"How is May?" Miss Miller asked. 
Glancing at the child, who had stopped her play for 
a moment, the mother said: 

55 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

"She's better, and I can't keep her in the house a 
minute. I'm as worried as can be, for she won't put 
on her hat or her rubbers, and she thinks the rain won't 
hurt her." 

Had she heeded the instincts of her own common 
sense, that mother would not have been swayed for an 
instant by the child's thought in the matter, but would 
have made her obey and saved her, in that case at least, 
a long and serious illness. 

It does not take a child long to discover the rela- 
tion between cause and effect in his own everyday ex- 
periences. His natural impulse is to have his own way. 
His desires are strong. He dislikes delay. A day 
seems a week, a week a month, to impetuous childhood. 

"It rains this morning, Freddy, so we will go to 
grandma's tomorrow, instead," the mother says 
calmly. A day seems a short time to her. A few brief 
hours and it will have passed. Eager Freddy's point of 
view is entirely different. 

"Not go till tomorrow?" he wails. "Why! we'll 
have to wait whole hours and hours!" 

Because of this comparatively slow passage of time 
and the intense ardor of his wishes, the child, uncon- 
sciously at first, experiments in the home circle. Why 
does Louise sulk in a corner ? Why does Charlie storm 

56 



TRAINING THE WILL. 

and shout and throw things around in a rage ? What 
is the reason for IMabel's fretful whine? Is it not be- 
cause each child has found that such manifestations of 
displeasure will soonest accomplish the desired end, 
and prevent his or her will from being thwarted ? 

One morning Jimmie came into the kmdergarten, 
puffing and panting as he clasped to his bosom an im- 
mense photograph album. It was a gay affair, re- 
splendent with scarlet plush and bright brass letters, 
but it was not a bit brighter or redder than the face 
of his mother as she arrived, perfectly breathless, a 
minute later. 

It seemed that Jimmy had been seized that morning 
with an overwhelming desire to have me gaze upon 
the pictured countenances of his uncle Mike, Aunt 
Veronica and Grandmother Mulligan. His mother 
had objected, fearing that he might drop the book and 
dim its glory, but as she said : 

"Niver a bit wud that young raskil listen to rason. 
Didn't he pretty night raise the ruf aff av the house 
till Oi towld him he could take it? An' shure! haven't 
Oi run all me legs aff av me thryin' to kape up wid him, 
an' save that iligant albium from dhroppin' ?" 

And young Jimmie, as he listened, evidently took 
notes for future reference. And I dare say he would 

57 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

again "raise the ruf" cheerfully, if he thought it neces- 
sary. 

A teacher has to take sulky Louise and quick-tem- 
pered Charles, fretful Mabel, willing Walter, ambi- 
tious Fred and forty others, some with good home 
training, some with poor, some with none at all, and 
cover so much ground in so many subjects during a 
year. To do this she must of necessity exercise some 
control over them. She must require and secure obe- 
dience. Some teachers can do this easily and without 
friction. With others it is obtained only by continuous 
and weary warfare. 

A boy went home one afternoon about five o'clock. 
His mother asked where he had been after school. 

"Oh ! nowheres," he answered in tones of retro- 
spective delight. "Me an' Ed Stults got kep' in till 
quarter o' five, for ivorryin' the teacher." 

Now just as long as that teacher allows that boy to 
see that he can annoy her, just so long will he take 
an impish delight in playing tricks. 

Some things must be forbidden in the school room, 
yet it does not follow that constant reference must be 
made to them. We have all heard the story of the 
little boy who was lost. When asked by a policeman 
to tell his name he answered : 

"It's Johnny." 

58 



TRAINING THE WILL. 

"Johnny what? What's your other name?" 

"I guess it must be Johnny Don't, for that's what 
my mother calls me all the time." 

Elizabeth Harrison, in her book called "A Study of 
Child Nature," says: "It is far better whenever pos- 
sible, to substitute 'do' for 'don't.' " 

I have seen classes entirely indifferent to a teacher's 
exclamation, "Oh, don't bend over that way. You're 
as crooked as can be." And I have seen rooms in which 
the pupils vied with one another in sitting in correct 
position when the teacher said pleasantly, "Please show 
me how straight you can sit." 

Imagination is often a most effective help in obtain- 
ing the desired results, I once had a boy in my class 
who never remembered to clean the mud from his 
shoes. He was a lazy, good-natured fellow whose only 
talent seemed to be the accumulation of mud. On the 
clearest, dryest days he always managed to find it 
somewhere. I talked to him. I kept him in. I said, 
"Leo, don't bring so much mud on your shoes. Leo, 
don't forget to use the scraper." And he would prom- 
ise faithfully to remember, without the slightest good 
resulting. 

One afternoon, a muddy, rainy day in March, I hap- 
pened to glance under his desk and saw the invariable 

59 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

sight. I knew many things about Leo's home. It con- 
tained only bare floors and the most meager furniture. 
No one there cared how much mud and dirt he brought 
in, and as I pondered over this fact I had a sudden 
inspiration. Just before school closed that afternoon 
I said : 

"Children, don't you think our room would look 
lovely if it had a carpet?" 

Of course they all thought that would put the fin- 
ishing touch of elegance to it, so I suggested: 

"Tomorrow let's play that we have a beautiful white 
velvet carpet all over the floor. We'll play the fairies 
put it down in the night, and it will be just as soft and 
just as white as snow." 

"Yes," said one little girl. "And why can't we have 
pink rose buds on it?" 

"Why ! we can !" I said. "Tiny pink buds scattered 
here and there. And I wouldn't get a speck of dirt on 
it for anything, would you?" 

"No, indeed," they all chorused, and we looked down 
at the rough bare boards and clapped our hands to 
think of the fairy carpet that would soon cover them. 

The next morning as I stood by the window watch- 
ing the children come through the gate and wonder- 
ing if many would forget the little play, I saw a sight 

60 



TRAINING THE WILL. 

which quite startled me. There by the scraper, 
patiently waiting his turn, stood Leo himself, and when 
he came into the room, about ten minutes later, his 
shoes were really respectable. 

"Why! Leo," I exclaimed. "How nice your shoes 
look!" 

"Yes, mum.'" he answered with a beaming smile. 
"You bet / wasn't goin' to spile our — white — velvet — ■ 
carpet!" 

Parents sometimes think teachers are too strict in 
the discipline of the school-room, and they may be 
right in some instances. But they often forget that 
while they have to manage only three, four or five, a 
teacher has ten times as many to control. Little things 
which amount to nothing in the home, become more 
than trifles in a crowded school. No teacher can do 
her best work in a noisy, restless class. Some attempt 
it. I have seen teachers struggling to win attention 
in a room where the children buzzed like blue-bottle 
flies in July and wriggled like polliwogs in May, but 
half of the effort they made was worse than useless, 
while the nervous strain must have been terriffic. 

That is one extreme. We all know the other. There 
are teachers who have formulated a code of laws which 
takes precedence over all others. By their actions, if 
not by their words, they say to their pupils : 

61 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

"Thou shalt not whisper and annoy thy teacher." 
This is the first and great commandment. 

And the second is Hke unto it : "Thou shalt not 
wriggle and annoy thy teacher." On these two com- 
mandments hang all the law and the punishments. 

Between these two extremes lies the golden mean, 
which we may discover more easily than we sometimes 
think, if we but bear in mind two thoughts : 

First, our attitude towards disorder determines that 
of our pupils. If we really think that whispering and 
squirming are cardinal sins, if in dealing with them w^e 
treat them with such severity that lying, cheating, tale- 
bearing, etc., must needs be relegated to the position 
of minor offenses, our pupils will absorb that impres- 
sion. If, on the other hand, we understand that these 
annoyances, although harmless in themselves, retard 
progress and disturb others, the children will also real- 
ize the fact. 

Second, our attitude towards the class as a whole 
influences each member of it. If we are saying, con- 
sciously or unconsciously by our actions, wdiat the lit- 
tle girl said in her play, "It doesn't make any diff'rence 
to me what you children want. I'm the teacher, an' 
I'm your boss," and if we are ingenious enough in de- 
vising punishments to keep down the spirit of rebellion, 

62 



TRAINING THE WILL. 

then we may, indeed, rule like a Russian czar over our 
subjects. Never mind about training their wills. 
What business have they with wills anyway? 

If, on the contrary, we hold the reins of government 
with a feeble grasp, if ''no" sometimes means "yes," 
the keen little brains will be quick to note and to take 
advantage of all such discrepancies. There can be no 
training of the will there, for the children's inclinations 
and caprices will be their only law, and they will be- 
come shrewd little tyrants, responsible to nothing but 
their own desires. 

But if, kindly yet firmly, we let the children under- 
stand that we wish their best advancement, if we re- 
frain from punishing them when angry, if we show 
them the reason for the punishment when it is given, 
helping them to see that we have sympathy and encour- 
agement for every honest effort while we do not 
hesitate to express disapproval of wrong, then our in- 
fluence over our pupils will grow deeper and deeper and 
the work of teaching will be much easier, for they will 
have found the secret of self control. 



^ 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 



VI. 

The Timid Child. 

Glancing at the title of this article I smile as I re- 
call the comment made by a sarcastic friend. "The 
timid child!" she said scornfully. "Where do you 
find one today? A rarity like that should be kept 
in a glass case." Notwithstanding this somewhat 
caustic remark, however, teachers know that timid 
children still exist, and the number who may be in- 
cluded in this class is larger than at first thought seems 
possible. 

Timidity originates from various causes and mani- 
fests itself in different ways; sometimes in such dis- 
guise that it is mistaken for boldnes. I shall not 
attempt to discuss its numerous forms but will touch 
briefly upon those phases with which, as teachers, we 
come most frequently into contact 

Timidity arises at times from misconception on the 
child's part, showing itself in what we hastily call 
sullenness. Miss Foster, the teacher of a class in the 

64 



THE TIMID CHILD. 

first grade, had among her pupils one who seemed to 
be exceedingly sulky. Day after day this little girl sat, 
silent and gloomy, persistently holding herself aloof 
from all intercourse with either teacher or class. She 
joined in none of the songs or games. Neither coax- 
ing nor punishment elicited more than a word from 
her. In despair Miss Foster concluded that the child 
must be both stupid and disagreeable and left her as 
much as possible to her own devices. 

"Martha is the most sullen, unlovable girl I have ever 
known," she said to the other teachers who wondered 
at the set, resolute expression of the pupil in question. 
"If she would only look at me once it would be some 
slight satisfaction, but she never deigns to glance to- 
ward me. I often wonder if she is deficient in intel- 
ligence, for surely a normal child would be interested 
in something." 

Happening to pass a toy store one afternoon, how- 
ever, Miss Foster was astonished to see Martha and a 
smaller child gazing at the treasures in the windows, 
while Martha's voice, eager, interested, happy, could 
be heard in merry chatter. Making a mental note of 
the incident the teacher passed on. 

The next day her pupil was the same silent sullen 
child she had always been. Miss Foster spoke to her 

65 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

pleasantly, telling her she had seen her looking at the 
toys the day before and asking which she liked best. 
Martha shrank from her gentle touch, refusing to an- 
swer. Amazed and aroused the teacher resolved to 
discover the reason for the child's aversion to her. She 
called at the home when school was over, and explained 
matters to the mother, a coarse, ignorant woman, say- 
ing she would have the little girl transferred to another 
first-grade room, if the parent thought best. The 
woman looked puzzled. Evidently her daughter had 
not confided in her. 

"I find out about dis," she said, giving the trembling 
Martha an angry shake. But her irate questions were 
unanswered and the mystery remained unsolved un- 
til an older sister who had listened with interest said 
laughingly, 

"I know what ails the little goose. Miss Foster. She 
is afraid you will snip her tongue." 

"Afraid of what?" asked the astonished visitor. 

"Why, ma told her, when she first started to school, 
that you do that to the children who talk too much, 
and she hadn't any more sense than to believe it." 

Inquiry proved that her theory was true. Absurd 
and almost inconceivable as it seemed, that mother had 
infused into her little one's mind a terror which made 
every school-day miserable. 



THE TIMID CHILD. 

Many an ignorant parent says to the tiny child who 
has disobeyed her, "Well ! just you wait till you go 
to school, the teacher will soon settle you. She'll put you 
down in the dark cellar with the rats and mice!" The 
older children of the family, amused by the credulity 
of the small listener, affirm their parent's statement, 
and the five-year-old reluctantly enters school, expect- 
ant of almost any fate. Of course the more observant 
children are soon undeceived, but it happens now and 
then that a child like Martha suffers weeks of silent 
terror. 

Another cause of timidity, one which is met much 
more frequently, is the dread some children feel for 
strangers and strange surroundings. This usually dis- 
appears very quickly as the pupil becomes accustomed 
to school life, but if his disposition is naturally re- 
served and quiet the feeling of strangeness may last 
for a long time. 

The story of Robert Rolfe will serve as an illustra- 
tion of this fact. An older brother who attended an- 
other school brought him to Miss Ellis's room the first 
day of the term, saying : 

"Robbie's awful bashful, but I guess he will get used 
to school by and by." 

Released from his brother's grasp the little fellow 

67 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

clung to the ledge of the blackboard v^-ith the determi- 
nation of despair. . No persuasion would induce him 
to rit with the other pupils. He clung there all the 
morning, his eyes wide with fright, entirely uninter- 
ested by all that went on around him. In vain Miss Ellis 
told the most interesting stories, in vain she coaxed him 
to sit by her or by any child he liked. There was no 
answer save the rapid breathing which told of his 
speechless terror. The afternoon passed in the same 
way. Whenever anyone spoke to him his whole body 
became tense and rigid and he evidently suffered such 
agony that Miss Ellis in sheer pity left him to himself. 

A week passed — two weeks — three. Occasionally 
Robbie would venture a few steps from his place, al- 
ways darting back if he saw anyone observing him, but 
taking no part in the other children's work or play. 
One morning Miss Ellis had told a story of a mother 
bird loving and caring for her babies. Suddenly she 
was startled to hear Sally exclaim, "Robbie's cryin' !" 
Turning quickly she saw the little face convulsed with 
weeping. Forgetful of his fear the baby put his arms 
around her and nestled close to her, sobbing, "I want 
my mamma. Oh ! I do want my mainma." 

It seemed wrong to keep the child when he was so 
unhappy, so when John came Miss Ellis said, as she 

68 



THE TIMID CHILD. 

had said several times before, "I think you had better 
leave your brother at home until he is older," adding, 
"the poor little fellow says he wants his mother." To 
her surprise the older boy's eyes filled with tears and 
he answered simply, 

"We all want mamma, ]\Iiss Ellis. But she died last 
summer. There are four of us boys. Robbie's the 
youngest and was always with her, so he misses her the 
most. When he is at home he just sits and looks at her 
empty chair. Once he ran away and tried to find her. 
He doesn't know that she has gone forever, you know. 
Papa thinks he will be happier here at school after he 
once gets used to it. He's never been with other chil- 
dren much and that's the reason he feels strange." 

Miss Ellis kissed the flushed cheeks of the shy little 
pupil as she resolved to be very patient, wdiile her 
warm heart ached with sympathy. It was hard to keep 
the resolution sometimes, for it seemed as if he must 
realize how unreasonable his intense fear really was, 
but she persevered. 

At last his emancipation came. It was Mabel's birth- 
day and she had the privilege of choosing a captain to 
lead the march. With her sweet face smiling, she 
went straight to Robbie, who stood in the line with the 
others. 

69 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

"I choose Robbie/' she said. 

The boy looked at her in indecision, every child in 
the room regarding him meanwhile with a friendliness 
so cordial that he felt its encouragement. 

"Go, dear, to please me," Miss Ellis whispered as he 
still hesitated. The next moment, with an effort re- 
quiring more courage than we can readily understand, 
he ran to the head of the long line. The long spell of 
fear had been broken. For the first time the timid 
child clearly understood that he was among friends. 
Around and around the room went the line of march- 
ing children, all imitating Robbie, and such beating of 
drums and waving of flags and clapping of hands had 
seldom been seen or heard before, for his soldiers 
caught the infection of their new leader's gladness, and 
when at last, flushed but triumphant, he brought them 
back to the starting-point an irresistible ripple of 
laughter ran along the line and Florrie said gayly, 

"I dess Wobbie isn't stared of us now!" 

Sometimes physical weakness or defect causes tim- 
idity. A child who had been bright and attentive dur- 
ing the first term of the school year was compelled to 
remain at home during the greater part of the second, 
because of a severe attack of whooping-cough. A few 
days after her return her teacher noticed an unwonted 

70 



THE TIMID CHILD. 

recoil from notice, accompanied by seeming attention 
to lessons yet an utter inability to grasp the thought 
presented. Whenever a direction was given, this little 
girl who had formerly been one of the most obedient 
in the class, took no notice of it, but when reproved 
seemed frightened and embarrassed, so that it was easy 
to perceive her disobedience had been unintentional. 

Her parents could give no explanation of the change. 
"She just .acts dazed-like," her father said. "We scold 
her all the time for not listening, but it doesn't seem 
to do any good." 

The teacher was completely bewildered. It did not 
seem possible that the child could have changed so en- 
tirely in character and disposition in so short a time. 
After trying various experiments she found that the 
severe illness had seriously affected her pupil's sense 
of hearing, so that every sentence was heard indis- 
tinctly, if at all. Scolded at home and rebuked at 
school for what appeared to be inattention and listless- 
ness, the poor little child, herself bewildered by her new 
lack of power, had been too timid to try to explain and 
had suffered in silence. 

Almost all teachers, I think, have had children in 
their classes whose sight has been defective, but who, 
through a timidity born of the weakness, have not told 

71 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

them about it until the infirmity has been discovered by 
accident. In many of these cases the children seem to 
prefer to bear the stigma of idleness and inattention 
rather than acknowledge their inability to do as their 
classmates do. We may be inclined to call this a kind 
of false pride, but investigation proves that it has its 
root in timidity, a sensitive unreasoning fear of blame. 

I have spoken of the fact that fear sometimes mas- 
querades under the disguise of boldness. A good illus- 
tration of this was given me by a gentleman teaching 
in a night-school in one of the tenement districts in 
New York. He said that the door of his classroom 
was flung open one night by a small ragged urchin 
whose face wore a formidable frown. 

"I'm come to school," the intruder shouted belliger- 
ently. "My name's John Jacques. An' you don't da'st 
to hit me nuther. I ain't scared o' nobody !" 

The gentleman tried to welcome him, assuring him 
that no one would harm him, but each time he took 
a step forward the redoubtable John fled incontinently, 
the truth being that in spite of his loud boasting the 
lad was thoroughly frightened, and it was not until he 
had assured himself that he was not in danger of per- 
sonal violence that he consented to be enrolled as a 
pupil. 

How shall we deal with timid, shrinking, sensitive 

72 



THE TIMID CHILD. 

children? Shall we, in our haste to secure uniform 
obedience to our wishes, make no allowance for their 
misunderstanding or their fear? Or shall we, looking 
deeper than the mere surface, try to discover the mo- 
tive underlying the deed, and zvin, not force, compli- 
ance to our wills? 

Perhaps some of us, looking back at our own child- 
hood, recall the agony of shame and terror which filled 
our hearts when some teacher, well-meaning perhaps, 
but cruelly unjust, nevertheless, mistook our shy hesi- 
tation for disobedience; or, irritated by the timidity 
which made us falter in the carefully-prepared lesson, 
held up our mistakes to the ridicule of the class and 
brought us into a prominence that violated our deepest 
instincts. 

The experiences of childhood are rarely forgotten. 
They should be the brightest, happiest ones of life, 
and the teacher who needlessly darkens their memory 
has reason to feel both shame and sorrow. 

A very beautiful and graceful woman, speaking to 
me not long ago of a person whom we both know, said, 

"I can never forget the suffering that woman caused 
me during the two years in which she was my teacher. 
I went to her timidly yet trusting at first, for no one 
had ever been unkind to me. She saw in my shy awk- 
wardness abundant opportunity for her wit. Those 

73 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

two years were years of torture to me. Probably she 
did not realize her cruelty, but I quivered under her 
sarcasm and shrank with unspeakable dread from the 
ridicule constantly focused upon me." 

The teacher who has so little self-respect that she 
cannot refrain from torturing a helpless child for her 
own amusement or the gratification of her class, has 
no place in the schoolroom of today. 

The warmest sunshine of encouragement and sym- 
pathy should be given to the timid child. He should 
be shown gently and lovingly that he has a part in 
the school work, that his mistakes will never be ridi- 
culed, but that teacher and pupils alike will rejoice 
in his triumphs. 

If we can thus help even one boy or girl to gain the 
mastery over self-distrust we shall have our reward 
in knowing we have made that young life stronger, 
nobler and happier. 

Is it not James Whitcomb Riley who says, "The 
child-heart is so shy a thing?" Slightly changing some 
of his words for our purpose, let us remember: 

"The child-heart is so shy a thing," 
A look may startle or may charm, 
A passing word may soothe or harm. 

"The child-heart is so shy a thing." 

"The child-heart is so shy a thing;" 

It opens at love's tender call. 

It closes when fear's shadows fall. 
"The child-heart is so shy a thing." 

74 



THE NERVOUS CHILD. 



VIL 

The Nervous Child. 

A bright, active old lady of my acquaintance said to 
me the other day : 

''All my grandchildren are stylish now." 

"What do you mean?" I asked, suspecting she was 
joking, although her face was grave. 

"Well," she said, "it is really a serious thing, al- 
though it has a funny side. You know that John, my 
oldest grandson, had to be taken from the high school 
last winter and sent down south on account of his 
nerves. Then in the spring the doctor forbade Russell, 
who is in the grammar department, to remain at school 
for more than an hour each day, saying that his nerves 
demanded rest. Little Ben entered the primary class 
this fall. I met him just now and asked how he liked 
school. 'Why! grandma,' he said, 'I don't go any 
more. Mamma thinks I am too nervous.' Nervous- 
ness seems to be fashionable in our family." 

The old lady was evidently somewhat skeptical about 
the matter and perhaps her doubts concerning one or 

75 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

more of the three cases were well founded. Never- 
theless many physicians declare that the number of 
persons suffering from nervous troubles is very large 
and includes many children. Various reasons for this 
fact are given. Some physicians say that the high pres- 
sure of modern life is responsible; others blame the ad- 
vanced requirements of the schools and assert that too 
great concentration of thought is exacted from the pu- 
pils, to their detriment; while still others claim that, 
like many other evils, it is largely a matter of heredity. 
Whatever the cause or causes, the results are found in 
almost every school room. \Vhat teacher is not famil- 
iar with the restless, fidgety, uneasy child — restless not 
from the high spirits which often accompany exuberant 
health, but keyed to a pitch of excitement that may be 
traced directly to unquiet and unsteady nerves? 

A child of this type is often difficult to manage. It 
is hard to know how to treat him kindly yet firmly, yet 
this is the only treatment which will yield the right re- 
sults. To put the nervous child under the charge of an 
irritable, easily-angered teacher who sees in his weak- 
ness only manifestations of perversity, is to injure him 
permanently, for the self-control he may learn will be 
secured only at the sacrifice of great vital energy. 

I was much interested lately in watching the course 

76 



THE NERVOUS CHILD. 

a teacher adopted in treating an exceptionally nervous 
pupil. It seemed to me both right and wise and a brief 
study of it may be valuable and suggestive. 

The little girl entered the class about the middle of 
the first term. She was accompanied by her mother, 
who wore a worried and perplexed expression. 

"You will be very careful of Emma, will you not, 
Miss Lansing?" the woman asked. "She is so nervous 
that I dread to have her come to school. The least ex- 
citement throws her into a fever of unrest. The doctor 
says she must not be crossed in anything, for when- 
ever she is it brings on a nervous paroxysm that makes 
us tremble for her life." 

Miss Lansing looked kindly down into the dark eyes 
of her new pupil, noting the bright, frank, intelligent 
countenance and the almost constant involuntary 
tremor of the child's body. "I think Emma will like 
school," she said pleasantly, giving her a seat among 
the other pupils. 

"If you don't object I should like to stay awhile so 
that she will not be timid. She has never been away 
from me before." 

"I shall be glad to have you remain," was the cor- 
dial answer, so the visitor seated herself and the usual 
school exercises began. Emma watched everything 

77 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

of interest. Now and then her mother crossed the 
room and gave her what seemed to Miss Lansing an 
unnecessary injunction not to feel frightened, 

"You will excuse me, I know," she said in explana- 
tion. "I see the child is getting greatly agitated. Keep 
calm, Emma dearest. Mother is right here." 

The constant suggestions interrupted the class w^ork 
and slowly but surely had their effect on the child. Her 
cheeks flushed. Her eyes shone with a brilliancy that 
w^as unnatural. Suddenly she ran to her mother, sob- 
bing, laughing and screaming in wild hysteria. 

"Just as I feared," the latter said. "I shall have to 
take her home at once. We will try it again tomorrow. 
The poor child's nerves are almost shattered, as you 
see." 

"Perhaps she may feel better in a few moments," the 
teacher suggested. 

"Oh! no indeed. It will require hours to calm her, 
she is in so excited a condition." 

"The next day the same experience was repeated, 
with the same result. As the weeping, shrieking Emma 
was led away. Miss Lansing did considerable thinking. 
She had seen no sign of timidity on the child's part. 
The dark eyes had met her gaze with frank curiosity. 
The nervous paroxysms which she had witnessed had 

78 



THE NERVOUS CHILD. 

apparently risen in answer to the mother's expectations. 
As a result of her thinking she said to the lady the 
third morning: 

"I wish you would let Emma stay alone this morn- 
ing, Mrs. Gordon. If she gets very nervous I will send 
for you, but children sometimes do better with strang- 
ers than with their own relatives. You are a brave lit- 
tle girl, aren't you, Emma? You are not afraid to stay 
with me." 

The child hesitated, but finally consented to remain 
and Mrs. Gordon reluctantly departed, all her objec- 
tions having been over-ruled. Lessons went on as they 
always did, Miss Lansing taking no special notice of 
Emma, who seemed absorbed in watching her class- 
mates. When the time for drawing came the teacher 
laid a pencil and sheet of paper on each desk, saying : 

"I suppose you will want to draw, too, Emma. We 
want to make a picture of a mother sheep and her 
lamb." 

An odd twinkle came into the little girl's eyes. "I 
think I had better not try drawing. Maybe it might 
hurt me," she said, then added with pride, "almost 
everything does hurt me, I'm so dreadfully nervous, 
you know." 

"That is too bad," Miss Lansing said simply. 

79 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

"Too bad !" Emma stared at her as if she could hardly 
believe she had heard aright. She had always heard 
so many comments and received so much sympathy 
whenever she had made the announcement before, that 
the brief sentence gave her a real shock of surprise. 
Miss Lansing had turned toward the blackboard, how- 
ever, apparently unconscious of her blunder, and in 
spite of herself Emma became interested in sketching 
the picture with the rest of the class, achieving a result 
which she regarded with elation. The morning passed 
pleasantly. When Mrs. Gordon came at noon she was 
surprised and relieved to hear there had been no trou- 
ble. The children were marching when she came in 
and for a moment Emma hesitated as if undecided what 
to do, but Miss Lansing whispered, "Surprise your 
mamma by marching with the others," and as the child 
obeyed, passing the watcher with a beaming face, a 
more rational pride kindled in that mother's heart, while 
her eyes grew dim with tears. 

From that time there was little trouble with Emma. 
She was nervous, of course. How could she have been 
otherwise when for years father and mother had sur- 
rounded her with an atmosphere of anxious expectancy ? 
The fact that her weakness gave her an advantage at 
times had long been clear to her since she was not a 

dull child. 

80 



THE NERVOUS CHILD. 

One day when she had obediently done something 
she disHked, the fancy came over her at noon to show 
her displeasure. Gazing frankly into Miss Lansing's 
face she said : 

"I think I'll have one of my nervous spells— a real 
bad one, too." 

Miss Lansing smiled. "Why?" she asked pleas- 
antly. 

'"Cause you asked me to do what I don't like." 
"Very well," was the cheerful answer. 
"I'm going to scream and kick and holler just aw- 
ful," said Emma, disappointed at this unconcern. 
"Very well." 

"Aren't you scared ? Aren't you afraid I'll dieT 

Miss Lansing took the erratic little girl on her lap 
"Emma," she said gently, "I'm not 'scared,' as you 
call it, for two reasons : First, I think you are too old 
and wise to act in that babyish way, and second, I am 
almost sure you will not make me feel sorry." 

The child studied her shrewdly. "Well," she said 
at last in her old-fashioned way. "I guess I'll have to 
give up having those silly spells. They do make me 
seem rather babyish." 

In spite of this acknowledgment of responsibility 
however, it would be unjust to the child to conclude 

81 



GLIMPSiES OF CHILD NATURE. 

that she was always able to control her manifesta- 
tions of nervousness. Sometimes when the class had 
been paying strict attention to one subject for an un- 
usually long period, Miss Lansing would notice that 
Emma showed signs of weariness and was beginning 
to fidget and move uneasily. Then she would give 
her some little errand to do or send her to the black- 
board for a few moments, — any trifling thing which, 
by changing the current of her thoughts, relieved the 
nerve tension. It was often troublesome to keep con- 
stantly in mind, like a sort of sub-stratum, a con- 
sciousness of the nervous child, but it paid ten-fold in 
the better work done by the pupil and in her increas- 
ing health and vigor. 

The mistake made by Emma's mother is a very com- 
mon one. By constant attention and suggestion she 
had unconsciously influenced her little girl in the very 
direction she wished to avoid. What the nervous child 
needs is to be let judiciously alone. As little attention 
as possible should be called to his condition, so that he 
will fee! neither pride nor shame concerning it. In- 
stead of following this course, the parent or teacher 
says to the restless, uneasy, disquieted child whose 
nerves are in a perfect quiver, ''Now don't squirm so. 
Don't act as if you were on pins and needles all the 

82 



THE NERVOUS CHILD. 

time. Do try to sit still/' And what is the result? In 
nine cases out of ten the child squirms worse than ever 
in the mere effort to sit still. 

Equally wrong", however, is a total disregard of the 
weakness, or an indifference to its consequences. 
While visiting a school not long since, I noticed a small 
boy whose hand trembled violently as he wrote in his 
corpy-book. His evident misery made me uncomfort- 
able. 

"Have you noticed how nervous that little boy is?" 
I said to the teacher. 

"Yes," she answered briefly. 

After waiting several minutes during which time he 
had made several blots in the book, I ventured to sug- 
gest : 

"Don't you think he might be better after a little 
rest?" 

Looking at me as if I had proposed she should com- 
mit a capital crime, she exclaimed : 

"What would the class think if I excused Willie? 
they would all expect the same privilege. 

I pity any teacher whose control of her class is so 
slight that she dare not make an exception when she 
sees it is the right thing to do. There are few chil- 
dren too dull to understand the reason for such 

83 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

exceptions or too hard-hearted to feel anything but 
sympathy for their necessity. 

When we think of the suffering endured by the pos- 
sessor of weak or shattered nerves, our hearts throb 
with pity. The fact that much of this suffering rises 
from imagination makes it no less painful. Special- 
ists in nerve diseases are constantly urging attention to 
the earliest symptoms, for they unhesitatingly assert 
that this may save months, perhaps even years, of dis- 
tress. 

Sometimes defective sanitary conditions in the 
school room affect a pupil. Sometimes the school 
work is too difficult to be done without great nervous 
effort. When either of these things is beyond the 
teacher's control she should frankly tell the parents her 
convictions and recommend that the pupil be removed 
from school until his health is restored. 

If, however, the class-room is well lighted and well- 
ventilated, if the teacher is cheerful and good natured 
and the lessons are not too hard, the nervous pupil will 
be benefited, not injured, by the regular routine and 
especially by companionship with other children. 

The tendency of many nervous persons is to be alone 
as much as possible, but this is not always best for 
them. Plenty of interesting occupation and associa- 

81 



THE NERVOUS CHILD. 

tion with friends often work wonders for those who 
are older and the same things are equally helpful to 
children. 

Even in the most obstinate cases, when the child is 
all aquiver with excitement, he may be quieted very 
often by a calm word or a cooling touch. The teacher 
who possesses a nervous temperament herself has a 
hard task at such times, for not only must she do her 
best to help her pupil, but must at the same time battle 
with her natural instincts in order to retain the calm- 
ness without which she will be powerless. 

Besides calmness, three other things are of vast im- 
portance in dealing with the nervous child : First, 
keen observation, by which the teacher without seem- 
ing to do so may accurately note his condition ; second, 
the power to so vary the daily program that fatigue 
may be avoided ; and third, patience to meet tranquilly 
the most unexpected demands. 



85 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 



VIII. 

The Slow Child. 

"All slow children are dull," the unthinking teacher 
says hastily, but this is not always true. Slowness may 
arise from stupidity, it may be but the deliberation char- 
acteristic of certain minds, it may be caused by lack of 
interest in a given subject, it may spring from the fact 
that no attraction exists between pupil and teacher as 
individuals, or it may manifest itself at certain periods 
because the child's mind is not sufficiently mature to 
enable him to grasp the principles presented. Other 
causes will suggest themselves, but these are probably 
the most common, so we will take them up separately. 

The first is, of course, the most discouraging, — slow- 
ness caused by dullness of intellect. We find examples 
of this type in every class-room. Even as I write the 
words there rises before my mind with vivid distinct- 
ness the memory of the dullest pupil I ever knew, — my 
stupid, uninteresting, good natured Jakie. He was 
fifteen years old. His round, freckled face beamed 



THE SLOW CHILD. 

like a full moon. No reproof ever made him down- 
cast. He invariably did the most awkward things yet 
did th^m so cheerfully and unconsciously that the hard- 
est heart could harbor no lasting indignation against 
him. In the reading class he sat side by side with lit- 
tle fellows of five and six and listened to their fluent 
recitations with outspoken praise and wonder. "I don't 
see how ever they kin rattle off them words like that," 
he would declare unenviously as they read the lesson. 
His own performance in that line was "fearsome" to 
hear. Was the story one of a cat catching a mouse ? 
He worked harder than the cat and sat down com- 
pletely "tuckered out" with the effort. But who so 
generous as Jakie? his pockets fairly bulged out with 
apples, nuts, and bits of sticky molasses candy. Who 
steered the little ones more carefully down the long 
hills in coasting-time ? To whom could one turn with 
more confidence in his willingness to help? I smile 
and sigh now as I recall his hearty voice assuring me : 

"We've had right good luck in teachers, allers. The 
one ahead o' you, she teached us fuzzology an' high 
jinks." (Physiology and hygiene.) "Fuzzology" he 
may have attempted to learn, but of "high jinks" I am 
sure he was totally guiltless. 

Another pupil, a girl, was extremely fond oi all her 

8-7 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

teachers. When I arrived she focused upon me the 
ardent affection of an honest soul. I see her now as 
she listened, open-mouthed, to every word that fell 
from my lips. Attention so breathless, absorption so 
complete would seem to promise a golden harvest of 
wisdom, but alas! she remembered nothing whatever 
of all she heard. Giving her a direction was an all day 
task, and in the end what she did was exactly opposite 
to the instruction given. Yet her heart was as good as 
her judgment was poor. I well remember remaining 
one afternoon for several hours after the close of 
school, drawing with colored crayons a set of pictures 
for some special lessons. The next morning to my 
amazement I found every bit of work erased and the 
boards neatly washed. A few moments later Susie 
entered, her face shining with the joy of one who has 
done a kind deed. 

"See how I s'prised you, teacher?" she asked cheer- 
fully. "I come early on purpose an' washed all the 
boards!" 

How she could have failed to see that the work was 
entirely new passes my comprehension, but she had 
certainly accomplished her purpose and surprised me. 

Sometimes the statements made by dull children are 
amusing. A friend of mine had in her physiology class 

88 



THE SLOW CHILD. 



a boy who had a fondness for long words but very lit- 
tle understanding of the subject he was studying. In 
an examination he had been asked the question : "What 
are some of the results of breathing impure air?" 

Joe wrote, "In response to question number one 
would say I never breeth impure air and don't remem- 
ber the anser. Insted I will tell man's great powers 
of persition and illurstrate my statemunts by dier- 
grums. When man stands he should take the puppen- 
diclar persition |. When he leans he should take the 
slantendiclar persition /. When he lays down he 
should take the horryzondiclar persition — . When he 
sets down the most helthiest persition is mixed slanten- 
diclar, horryzondiclar and puppendiclar 



'h 



If we take these persitions we can generaly breeth pure 
air pervided there is any on the hemmyspeer around 



us/' 



The conclusions drawn by dull children are often 
ridiculous. Probably we have all heard the story of the 
little boy whose mother wanted him to go to the store 
to get a pound of sugar. Glancing at the clock he re- 

89 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

plied, "Oh! I can't go, I'll be late at school." Theu, 
seeing the disappointment on her face, he added, "Well ! 
never mind. I'll run down and get a half-pound,." 

Dullness however, trying as it may be, is not a crime. 
We sometimes hear a teacher say, "I can excuse Fred 
for the gravest faults because he is so quick and intel- 
ligent," while the same teacher says of another pupil, 
"Dear me ! I don't know how to worry along with 
Frank. He is so stupid that I cannot have any patience 
with him." That point of view, natural as it is, is 
wrong. I will grant that the dull child is very irri- 
tating to the ambitious teacher. Still, when we realize 
that the dullness is beyond his control and that he is 
doing the best he can, we should be as patient as possi- 
ble. It sometimes happens that the dullest children 
have very sensitive hearts and are more conscious of 
their defects than we think. 

In a first-year class not long ago there was a little 
girl who was exceedingly dull. Try as she would, the 
teacher could not make her understand the simplest 
lesson. She tried to be patient. Noon after noon, 
night after night she carefully explained the new words 
or reviewed the day's work with Olive. The next 
morning none of the help seemed to be remembered. 
One afternoon as Miss Gardner bent over the little one, 

90 



THE SLOW CHILD. 

endeavoring to make clear what seemed already per- 
fectly simple, a new impulse of pity and tenderness 
came to her. She patted the golden head and said 
kindly : 

"You do try, Olive. Don't you, dear?" 

The child's eyes brimmed with tears. She threw her 
arms around the teacher's neck and cried, "I love you. 
I love you." 

Not long afterward Olive was absent. Miss Gard- 
ner intended to call at her home to see if she were ill, 
but several days elapsed before she had time. One 
morning the children entered the class-room with un- 
usual solemnity, and Henry said abruptly : 

"Teacher, Olive's dead!" 

The few words came like a thunderbolt. All through 
the day Miss Gardner found it hard to realize that the 
news was true. The time for dismission came at last. 
The boys and girls, already forgetful of their class- 
mate, skipped lightly down the street and the teacher 
returned to the empty room, but as she crossed the 
threshold it seemed to her that the little dull child sat 
once more in the familiar seat. There was a new light 
in her eyes, — a gleam caught perhaps from the splendor 
of the Unseen Land. Miss Gardner gazed at her half- 
fearfully. What did she remember of the school-room 

91 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

scenes? What message had she carried to that Savior 
who loved the lambs of the flock? But as she gazed, 
the old radiant smile came back and the childish voice 
said tenderly, "I love you." 

Today as that teacher looks into the faces of her 
little ones, there comes to her very often a memory of 
that other child whose tiny feet have wandered far 
from the dusty school-room into the sweetness and 
gladness of God's Beautiful Land, and the echo of that 
silent voice helps her to be patient. 

Slowness is not always dullness, however. A child 
may seem slower than his classmates because his mind 
is more deliberate in its action, yet he may retain far 
longer than they the thoughts he has once mastered. 
Quickness of perception is not to be disparaged. It is 
a valuable gift and its possessor is fortunate, but there 
should be no prejudice against a slower child. To the 
bright, quick pupil, whose intuition is keen, the ordinary 
school lesson presents few difficulties. He glances at 
the new words in reading and knows them. The facts 
in arithmetic, geography, history, etc., are easily mas- 
tered. His slower companion, on the contrary, must 
concentrate all his efforts on a given thought, and must 
con it again and again, yet when he has once conquered 
it, it is his forever. 

92 



THE SLOW CHILD. 

A child may be slow in one subject and quick in an- 
other. The practice common in a few cities of class- 
mg all dull pupils together, affords many illustrations 
of this fact. 

Curious to know upon what basis the division is 
made, I inquired of several superintendents. One re- 
plied : 

"We take reading as our standard in the lower 
grades. If a child does not reach a certain speed in the 
recognition of new words he is classified as 'slov/' and 
is put in a special grade." 

Another superintendent said frankly : 

"The question of classification has, I confess, trou- 
bled me considerably. We have finally concluded that 
number work, showing as it does the child's ability to 
reason, should be the standard of comparison, and are 
acting upon that hypothesis." 

The amusing part of this is the fact that in these 
two cities the same child might receive entirely differ- 
ent treatment. In one he might be classed among the 
shining stars, while in the other he might take his place 
among the paler luminaries. 

A classification so incomplete defeats its own ends. 
It seems to me that unless the child is really defective 
in intellect it is far better to let him have the benefit 
of association with his quicker classmates. 

93 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

"That room is the room for woodenheads," I heard 
a boy say in one of the schools in question, yet the prin- 
cipal had assured me that no stigma rested upon the 
"dull" pupils who were sent to it. The question de- 
serves careful study. No one will deny that the slow 
child requires special help, and there is truth in the 
statement that the bright child should not be retarded 
by a dull companion, but I doubt if it will ever be pos- 
sible to make an arbitrary separation that will be per- 
fectly just. If the attempt be made, however, great 
care should be exercised lest the less fortunate pupils 
become discouraged. The slow child unconsciously 
gains from association with the quick one, while the 
latter sometimes finds with surprise that the companion 
he has almost disregarded is slowly but surely achiev- 
ing a more lasting success. 

More and more we are coming to realize that there 
are "diversities of gifts," as the Apostle Paul said, and 
that these are mental as v/ell as spiritual. 

A teacher once told me of a pupil who seemed to her 
to be hopelessly stupid. No ray of intelligence shone 
from his eyes. Geography, history, reading, — he cared 
for none of them. She could think of no way to rouse 
his interest. There came an afternoon when in un- 
feigned discouragement she asked him if there was 

nothing he really liked. 

94 



THE SLOW CHILD. 

"Why! yes!" he answered, "I Hke my fiddle better 
than anything else in the whole world." 

"Well!" she said, looking at him a little quizzically 
as he stood, a tall gaunt, awkward lad before her. 
"Bring the fiddle tomorrow, Ed, and let me hear you 
play." 

He promised and kept his word. No one had given 
him any instruction. What he knew he had taught 
himself, but as he played one thing after another she 
could not help recognizing that he had the touch of the 
true musician, for the soul of the violin answered truly 
land certainly to his own. And when, carried beyond 
embarrassment by her sympathy, he told her of the fan- 
cies that came to him in the midst of the lessons, and 
showed how he struggled to find the notes that would 
interpret them to others, she knew as well as she knows 
today when great audiences listen spell-bound to 
his music, that the rough, awkward lad whom she had 
almost pitied for his dullness had within him the ele- 
ments of true greatness. 

I remember reading that Whittier had no love for 
mathematics, that he was positively repelled by the 
symbols employed in algebra, and was extremely slow 
in "seeing through" an intricate problem. Yet who 
that has read "Snow-Bound" or "Telling the Bees" or 

95 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

any of the other beautiful poems that deHght us, would 
dream of calling their writer dull ? Take, for instance, 
that exquisite poem, "The River Path," and notice how 
the simple words convey to us not only a picture of the 
scene he describes, but also bring a message of hope and 
cheer. Could the hardest problem in mathematics do 
as much? 

Many a so-called "slow" child has been given that 
reputation simply because the teacher had not the key 
to his interests. It happens, too, that sometimes a cer- 
tain teacher may not possess the requisite qualifications 
to deal with a certain child. Sometimes this is due to 
no fault on either side. We all know there are persons 
who influence us to do our best, while with others we 
feel a sensation of discouragement. One stimulates our 
highest endeavor, the other unconsciously takes away 
our enthusiasm. This may be the case in school. I 
know of one boy who was a leader in his class last year 
and who did really unusual work, but whose record 
since September has disappointed his mother and him- 
self. Yet he tries harder than before, if possible. The 
teacher is faithful and conscientious. She does the very 
best she can and succeeds with almost all her class. It 
is through no fault of either that the one case is a com- 
parative failure. It is simply because there is not be- 

96 



THE SLOW CHILD. 

tween the pupil and herself that peculiar bond of fel- 
lowship and inspiration which the boy felt in a marked 
degree last year and to which he unconsciously re- 
sponded. 

Another cause of slowness, as I have said before, 
may be the fact that the child's mind is not mature 
enough to grasp the principles presented. Some boys 
and girls at seven or eight are as mature as those of 
nine or ten, while others are less developed. It hap- 
pens not infrequently that a pupil who has been "left 
behind" one year, readily takes the lead the next and 
continues to do good work through the higher grades. 
There was no real stupidity in the case. The pupil 
simply needed that year of development. 

The slow child, whatever the cause of his slowness, 
requires patience. After all. when we measure human 
attainments by the infinite intelligence of God we must 
ask, "Where is our wisdom?" 

We call that man wise who numbers a few of the 
countless stars that shine from the midnight sky, who 
names the flowers in the summer meadows, who speaks 
a few languages besides his native tongue, who wres- 
tles with disease and at times arrests it, or who reads 
from the pages of rock and stone some story of past 
ages. 

97 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NAl'URE. 

But as we think of God's supreme wisdom — He who 
holds this Httle earth of ours in the hollow of His 
hand ; who directs and controls the motion of unnum- 
bered worlds so that in the vast star-spaces there is no 
friction and no jar; to whom the tiniest flower in the 
tangled jungle or the smallest blossom in the cleft of 
the snow-crowned mountain has its beauty and its use; 
who understands not only the spoken words of every 
race, but knows the thoughts that are too deep and ten- 
der for speech; to whom life and death alike are known ; 
and who reads as an open scroll the past, the present, 
and the endless aeons of eternity; — must we not won- 
der at His infinite patience with usf 

Sometimes as we sit alone in the deserted school- 
room, when the last little child has gone, if we listen 
we may hear the great Father's voice saying tenderly: 

"Oh, teachers of my little ones, you who with need- 
less pain and labor have spelled out some few sylla- 
bles of the message of love which I have written all 
around you, will you not open your hearts even to the 
slow children, — so that your love may interpret mine, 
and In your patience they may see the dim shadow of 
my Divine Fatherhood?" 



98 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 



IX. 

The Self-Conscious Child. 

One of the charms of early childhood is its utter un- 
consciousness of self. The little child surveys us with 
big, wondering eyes. His every thought is occupied, 
not with himself, but with us. He is interested, not in 
our opinion of him, but in our actions, our speech, our 
dress. Whatever he does, he does with his whole heart, 
never thinking or caring what observers may conclude. 

There comes a time when all this is changed, when 
the boy and girl awake to an intense realization of self. 
They have come to the turning-point between child- 
hood and youth, reaching it sometimes gradually, some- 
times suddenly. 

It is an uncomfortable period and I think children 
are more often misunderstood then than at any other 
time. A wider vision opens unexpectedly before them. 
New emotions thrill their very being. The strangeness 
bewilders and oppresses them. The awkwardness 
which is almost inseparable from rapid growth is as 

99 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

apparent to them as to us, while at the same time they 
desire, in a degree they have never felt before, respect 
and recognition for themselves. 

The tiny child gazes at us with unquestioning trust, 
and hard indeed must be the heart which does not an- 
swer to its appeal. Yet sweet as childhood is, and much 
as we love its winsomeness, we would not wish the 
child to remain always a child, for that would be un- 
natural. The mother as she fondles her baby in her 
arms might have a momentary wish that he could re- 
main ahvays thus helpless, innocent, and confiding. 
As her boy grows older and she sees his intellect de- 
velop from day to day she might say, "Oh ! that he could 
stay like this; frank, questioning, yet reliant upon my 
will!" But deep in her heart she knows that growth is 
best; that her child, if he is to accomplish any result 
in the world, must think and feel and discover for him- 
self, and that the utmost she can do is to help him over 
life's hardest places by her love and sympathy. 

Ic is of the pupils who have come to the self-con- 
scious age that I wish to speak in this chapter, — the 
boys and girls whom we still call children, yet whose 
thoughts and purposes are beyond those of mere child- 
hood, whose ideals have changed, who stand hesitating 
and bewildered and at a great disadvantage. 

100 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 

Sometimes we are surprised at the change in a boy 
or girl whom we have known for a long time. Parents 
themselves often realize the difference with a shock. 
A father says, "how awkward John was this evening. 
He did not know what to do or say. I was really mc/r- 
tified by his behavior." Or a mother says depreciat- 
ingly to her daughter, "Florence, you never used to sit 
and stare at our visitors without speaking." 

Perhaps you meet Tom on the street. You have not 
seen him for several weeks and your first thought is, 
"how fast he is growing!" You remember with pleas- 
ure the cordiality with which he has always greeted 
you since he was one of "your boys" in the primary 
class, so you give him a smile and a cheery "good- 
morning." To your amazement Tom hangs his head 
as he mutters something inaudible, and you pass on 
thinking he no longer cares for your friendship. It is, 
however, far more probable that his unusual actions 
are due to sudden self-consciousness. 

I recall an instance of this kind which will show that 
the boy himself understands the absurdity of his con- 
duct. While teaching in a country school I became 
greatly interested in a boy whose name was Howard. 
He was a lad of about fourteen — bright, frank and un- 
usually intelligent. One afternoon we were walking 

101 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

down the road together, chatting pleasantly about 
many subjects, when he exclaimed in tones of the deep- 
est dismay : 

"Oh! just see! there's our minister coming." 

"Well," I said curiously, for if ever horror spoke in 
a voice it did in his — "don't you like him?" 

"Oh, yes," he answered promptly. "He's all right. 
But I always act like an idiot when he speaks to me. If 
you were not with me now I'd jump over the fence 
and run across lots home, but I s'pose that wouldn't 
be polite." 

"I don't mind," I said. "Run, if you wish." 

But he evidently thought that would not be the 
proper thing, so we advanced to meet the foe. I have 
smiled many times since at the memory of the scene 
that followed. The minister was a friendly, well- 
meaning man. His face lit up with a happy smile when 
he spied us. Howard was walking in a rigid, military 
attitude. He looked as if he were afraid to relax a 
muscle and grasped the parson's extended hand with 
a grip so forcible that both trembled from the shock. 

"Good-afternoon," said the minister. 

"Good — good-morning," stammered Howard, 

"How are you today?" 

"Not — not very well. I mean I'm quite well, thank 

you." 

102 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 

"And how is your good mother?" 

"She's — -she's well. I mean, not very well.'* 

"Not very well ? What seems to be the matter with 
her?" 

"I mean she's all right. She's getting along real 
nicely." 

"Getting along nicely ? why ! has she been ill ? She 
was at church on Sunday." 

"She's well, I mean. She has a cold. She's all 
right. There's nothing the matter with her." 

The man looked mildly puzzled but pursued his in- 
quiries. 

"And how is your father?" 

"Oh! not very well. I mean he's real well. He's 
very well. And Mamie's well and Grace and Willie. 
They're all real well. Everybody's well at our house." 

After a few more questions had been answered in 
the same embarrassment the minister walked on, try- 
ing, I suppose, to reconcile the varying statements he 
had heard. 

Howard looked at me. I looked at him, and found 
it impossible to keep a grave face. 

"Laugh right out. I don't mind," he said gener- 
ously. "I know it was funny. Did you ever see any- 
body act so like a simpleton before?" 

103 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

''Well," I said, "I don't see zvhy you were so em- 
barrassed. You certainly were not afraid of Mr. Mil- 
ler, w^ere you ?" 

"Afraid of him? No. But I always make myself 
ridiculous when I meet him. I think he is wondering 
how a big boy can be so foolish. That makes me un- 
comfortable and then I act silly. I s'pose I'll get over 
it by and by." 

It was pure self-consciousness that ailed the boy. He 
was not at all dull, yet a stranger would have received 
the impression that he was both awkward and stupid. 

Sometimes this trouble manifests itself in an entirely 
different way. The boy becomes talkative and asserts 
himself unduly, so that we wonder why Joe, who was 
so quiet and polite a few weeks before has now grown 
so noisy and aggressive. In reality he is merely "tak- 
ing his bearings." Within him is a chaos of strange 
emotions and he does not know how to manage them. 

It is a critical time in the life of every boy and girl. 
Both Vidsdom and skill are required to meet without 
evasion the needs of either. In nine cases out of ten 
the principal says, "Put them under the care of a good 
disciplinarian and all will be well." 

Discipline is not a bad thing. It must be enforced 
and most of all during those years, but what the boys 

104 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 

and girls need then is not the reign of law and law 
alone, but that of sympathetic understanding. 

I believe that the reason so many pupils leave the 
grammar grades with ideals lowered instead of raised, 
comes from the deliberate, willful, continued neglect of 
teachers and parents to recognize their responsibility 
in dealing with human souls. 

The little child feels wonder but not doubt. He ac- 
cepts our statements because zve make them. He thinks 
what the small boy once put into words when he said, 
"Everything my father says is true, even if it isn't 
so, 'cause my father says it." The needs of youth 
are infinitely broader and more complex. The boys 
and girls are less easily satisfied. Never again will they 
dream dreams quite so dazzling or so brililant. Never 
again will fancy lure them on to heights so glorious: 
Yet with all the brightness and beauty before them, 
with the consciousness of power unfolding day by day, 
there is also another consciousness, intense and almost 
overmastering, of their lack of power to control the 
power they feel. 

Over and over again they hear beating in their brain 
with incessant persistency, questions, questions, ques- 
tions. "Whence came I? why am I here? what is my 
part in the world's work? where am I going?" Face 

105 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

to face with these resistless thoughts, the boy, the girl, 
must solve or try to solve, the deepest mysteries of life. 
It is not discipline alone that is needed then — it is the 
touch oi the Lord Jesus Christ. The younger child 
feels nothing of this struggle. His faith is beautiful 
in its very simplicity and the primary teacher has a 
v^'ork of great responsibility because to a large extent 
she helps to lay the foundation stones of character. 
Nevertheless the buildings made on these foundations 
may differ from one another, and the foundation is of 
comparatively little value if the superstructure be weak 
or ugly. The work in every grade is important. No 
teacher may say with impunity, "This year in the life 
of my pupils is of relatively small worth, so I need feel 
no responsibility for its results." 

The self-conscious child is usually aware of a gap 
between himself and younger children. He feels as the 
girl did who had spoken slightingly of her baby sister. 

"Why! Mary," her mother remonstrated. 'Tt isn't 
nice to speak that way. You were once a baby your- 
self." 

"I know it," answered Mary. "But I wish you 
would try to forget it. I'm sure I'm ashamed enough 
of it!" 

The youth looks down with infinite contempt upon 

106 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 

the toys that once pleased him. He refers to the time 
when he was a child as naturally and unconcernedly 
as if he were some old gentleman of seventy. Time 
will soften the scorn, but in its first manifestation it is 
intense indeed. I have often wondered if Paul did not 
smile as he wrote the words : 

"When I was a child I thought as a child, I spake as 
a child, I understood as a child, but when I became a 
man I put away childish things." 

The "putting-away" is usually so pronounced and 
gives such comfort to the doer. His point of view 
changes so completely that he puzzles his friends. A 
few days ago a lady told me that her elder son afforded 
her much amusement. 

"John and Harry have always played together," she 
said. "There is a difference of three 3'ears in their 
ages, but that has never made the slightest difference 
in their companionship until recently. Both read the 
same books and were interested in the same games. But 
the other day John stood by the window watching 
Harry who was playing marbles in the yard below. 
When he saw me he motioned to me to come and look, 
then remarked with the utmost nonchalance : 

"How strange it seems that Harry can take pleasure 
in shooting marbles ! / admire only manly sports, such 

107 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

as athletics. But of course he is but a child. He will 
think differently when he is as old as I." 

The boy was totally oblivious of the fact that his 
own changed attitude was amusing. 

The period which the self-conscious child has entered 
is the period of hero-worship. It is the time when the 
boy has his ideal in the flesh, and when the girl pays 
homage to some teacher or other adult friend. The boy 
usually tries to conceal his admiration. > The girl de- 
sires to have the world know hers. The boy briefly 
declares to his particular chums that Mr. So-and-so 
is "not half-bad," while all the while he longs for the 
approbation of his hero — imitating his walk, his ways, 
even his expressions. The girl goes into an ecstacy of 
delight over her idol, and in rapturous exclamations 
makes known the discovery that there is "none like 
unto her beloved, no, not one!" She quarrels with 
her bosom friend over the prettiest color of eyes or 
hair, because that friend happens to have another ideal 
to whom she is especially loyal. 

It is the age of superlatives with the girls. Every- 
thing is "just lovely" or "perfectly horrid." Things 
are either loved or hated. No golden mean exists any- 
where. 

It is, moreover, the age of harsh judgments. Dur- 

108 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 

ing this period the boys and girls are as merciless as 
stoics and too often we are repelled by the crude truth 
of their criticisms, so that we do not try to show them 
a better perspective. These criticisms really rise from 
an honest perception of the true and beautiful. No 
ideal we can present is too high, no thought too noble 
for their appreciation if presented properly. 

Very often we. who rebel at the child's criticism of 
ourselves, criticise and misjudge him in turn, or what 
he considers still worse, we smile at his confidences. 
Parents as w^ell as teachers are often in fault here. A 
mother is busy. Her daughter comes to her, glowing 
with animation, eager to tell her of some ambition she 
has determined to fulfill. The mother says, "I haven't 
time to listen now. I don't believe it is very important. 
Some other time will do just as well." Or a father 
listens to some plan which his son considers extremely 
noble and inspiring. There is a whimsical smile on 
his face and at the close of the story he slaps his knee 
and chuckles loudly, "Ah ! Billy, that's a good one ! I 
must remember to tell your Uncle Jim about it tomor- 
row. That's right, my boy ! aim for the stars every 
time." 

I wonder how we should feel if with infinite pain 
we should reveal our hearts to a friend only to find 

109 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

our confidence treated as a rich joke and repeated 
among our acquaintances ; or what would be our emo- 
tions if the friend to whom we spoke should say, "Oh, 
don't bother me today. I'll listen to you some other 
time." We should be both hurt and indignant, I fancy, 
yet we give to a child the treatment we would resent 
for ourselves. 

It is often hard for him to speak his inmost thought. 
Is it not the same for us? The very best of ourselves 
how seldom we share, not because we are unwilling 
but because of our own troublesome self-consciousness. 
Thoughts that are really helpful and beautiful come to 
us and with them comes the impulse to speak them, but 
we fear some one would think us queer or odd, so we 
hide the thought which might bring help or comfort 
to another heart. The hesitation which we feel the 
child feels in a much greater degree. 

I have spoken of the fact that discipline is especially 
necessary during these years. This is strictly true, 
The pupils then have a kind of contempt for what they 
call an "easy" teacher. I have heard them say of one, 
"Oh ! she hasn't sense enough to make us mind. We 
just walk all over her." The inexperienced teacher 
makes her greatest mistake right there. She reads and 
hears so much about winning her pupils' love that she 

110 



THE SELF-CONSCIOUS CHILD. 

forgets no true love can exist without respect. The 
best teachers have the power to hold the individual 
members of their classes firmly and steadily to the best 
work within their capabilities. It is possible to keep 
order by appealing to one or more than one of many 
motives, but the teacher who wishes to influence char- 
acter towards its highest development can do so only by 
power within herself. 

No mere "goody-goody" talk will avail anything 
with these keen-eyed critics. The teacher who is one 
thing and talks another rarely deceives her pupils. They 
go straight through the act to its underlying motive 
and have a healthy, straight-forward, out-spoken scorn 
of all hypocrisy. 

If you doubt that they think deeply, try one of your 
pupils the next opportunity you get and see if you are 
not surprised at the earnestness of his reflections. You 
must go about it reverently, however. Just as you 
would resent the curiosity of some careless stranger 
who tried to discover the deepest emotions of your 
heart, so your pupil shrinks from disclosing the 
sentiments he rightfully considers sacred. 

The awkward lad, the bashful girl, upon whom we 
look with disapproval may be rightly read only through 
love. Let us make friends with them so that we may 

111 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

be of real help to them. The best psychology ever writ- 
ten is worth nothing compared with the patient, earnest 
study of a few children. Instead of spending time and 
effort in a wearisome endeavor to understand the long 
words involved, let each teacher carefully and rever- 
ently study Tom. Mary, or any other child who inter- 
ests or troubles her. 

When we come in contact with the self-conscious 
child we should be exceedingly careful not to destroy 
his self-respect. He suffers from an excess of what is 
common to all of us. ''To lose all self-consciousness," 
says a German writer, "would be to lose our identity." 
The thing that makes life interesting is the fact that 
we are like, yet unlike. If every person we met were 
an edition of ourselves, in exactly the same binding, 
print and contents, life would lose its charm. We are 
essentially different, yet essentially alike, paradoxical 
as the assertion seems. Beneath all dissimilarities of 
age, heredity, training and environment beats the com- 
mon human heart in which God has put the desire 
for purity, for truth, for love, for Himself. 

That teacher is wisest who, speaking heart to heart 

with the self-conscious child, makes it easy for him to 

reveal his emotions and aspirations; for it is only by 

the knowledge gained in this way that the best help can 

be given. 

112 



THE UNTRUTHFUL CHILD. 



X. 

The Untruthful Child. 

Of all the faults of children the one for which the 
least sympathy is felt is that of untruthfulness. This is 
somewhat surprising because in almost every instance 
the child receives his first lesson in deceit from some 
older person, and many times parents and teachers place 
before him temptations so strong that it is no wonder 
he yields to them. 

A young child's natural impulse is to be perfectly 
frank. He speaks his mind freely and fearlessly, re- 
gardless of the feelings of his listeners. 

The child disguises none of his emotions. If he is 
angry he does not attempt to conceal the fact. He dis- 
plays his faults without dissimulation and reveals his 
pleasure or displeasure with little regard for its effect. 

You may have given him a toy worth many dollars. 
The monetary value of the gift has no weight with him. 
He says honestly, "I like it," or "I don't like that." 

This state of absolute candor does not last long. By 

113 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

wise or unwise measures the child is taught that his 
feelings must not be expressed so unreservedly at all 
times. He begins to reason things out and sees the re- 
lation between cause and effect. He notices that cer- 
tain lines of conduct bring certain results; different 
statements meet with different receptions. He is too 
young to understand his own thoughts fully, yet slowly 
but surely he shapes his character on the conclusions 
he has drawn. 

It is at this time that his confidence in his parents 
is either confirmed or destroyed. 

I once heard a conversation which illustrates the dif- 
ferent views parents take concerning this matter. 

It was a cold, snowy evening. The streets were 
coated with ice, the "L" trains were all overcrowded 
and almost everybody was cross because of the un- 
avoidable delays. As the train stopped at Cortland 
street, a gentleman standing in front of me said to his 
companion : 

"I'll have to go up town again. I promised to bring 
something from H — 's for my little girl, but forgot all 
about it." 

"Wait till tomorrow," his friend suggested. "You'll 
miss the next train for Elizabeth and then you'll have 
to wait an hour. Tell Grace you forgot. I often break 



THE UNTRUTHFUL CHILD. 

a promise to my youngsters. They're only children, 
so it doesn't matter." 

"I don't like to do that," was the answer. "It would 
make me sorry to have her break a promise to me, so I 
always try to keep my word to her," and he turned 
away, leaving his friend undecided whether to feel 
amused or rebuked. 

Everyone is familiar with the famous story of 
George Washington and his hatchet. Curious to see 
what the children thought would be the natural se- 
quence to his bravery in confessing his guilt, I told the 
story to a first year class, none of whom had ever heard 
it before. Mindful of the end I had in view I dwelt 
particularly upon his impulse to refrain from acknowl- 
edging that he had done the act. Then, picturing as 
vividly as possible his noble resolve to speak the truth, 
I asked each child what he thought the father did. 

Was it not somewhat significant that not one lis- 
tener thought the culprit would be excused because of 
his honesty? Many punishments were suggested; — 
that the small George "would be whipped," "would be 
sent to bed," "would get no supper," etc., etc. Evi- 
dently no personal experience had suggested any other 
sequel to their minds and the denouement that I gave 
struck them as entirely novel. Indeed, the general sen- 

115 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

timent seemed to be expressed by one little fellow who 
said : 

"I'll bet my father would a-licked me then, no matter 
how many trufes I told." 

Children tell many lies through fear of blame or pun- 
ishment. A teacher is called from her room for a few 
minutes. Fearful that disorder may ensue, she says 
sternly : 

"If anyone speaks or plays, he will be kept for an 
hour after school." 

She is detained for some time and during her ab- 
sence the pupils do considerable whispering and play- 
ing. On her return she asks : 

"How many pupils have been good?" 

Forty small fibbers, understanding perfectly well 
that goodness in this instance means order, unhestitat- 
ingly and vociferously ejaculate, "I was good !" "I 
was good !" 

One child, more conscientious than the rest, blushes 
deeply and refuses to join the chorus. The teacher, 
noticing the flush and the silence, attributes both to 
guilt and questions him. Alas ! he admits that he whis- 
pered and retribution descends upon his head, while 
his forty classmates marching triumphantly homeward 
when school is out, regard him with contempt or pity, 
according to their dispositions. 

116 



THE UNTRUTHFUL CHILD. 

What wonder if on the next occasion WaUer asserts 
his innocence as loudly as the others? 

The desire for approval is also the cause of some 
falsehoods. In some instances children have a positive 
hunger for praise. They will do very disagreeable 
things when buoyed up by the hope of receiving com- 
mendation. 

A teacher had a little boy in her class who without 
any apparent cause, was disliked by the other children. 
No child could explain his reason for not liking Rus- 
sell. It seemed to be a case of, 

"1 do not like you, Dr. Fell, 
The reason why, I cannot tell." 

Miss Lawrence felt sorry for him and tried to per- 
suade his classmates to regard him with more favor. 
At last she saw that Grace, one of the dearest little girls 
in the class, was making a habit of choosing him in 
the games. One morning the little girl came to her 
and said : 

"Miss Lawrence, don't you see hozu much I like 
Russell? I always choose him when it's my turn." 

There was a positive frown of dislike on the fair 
brow, but without waiting for an answer she added 
hastily : 

"Oh ! I just love Russell. Don't you think I'm a nice 

girl?" 

117 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

It was a longing for the approval of the teacher 
whom she really loved that had led the child to say 
what was really untrue. A few kind words made her 
understand a higher point of view. 

Another reason for the falsehoods told by children 
is a desire to create wonder in the minds of their as- 
sociates. 

One girl says to another : 

"My mother is awful rich. She has forty million 
dresses !" 

**Pooh !" says her listener. "That's nothing. My 
mother has more'n that. She has — she has — why! 
she has more'n a whole sky full of them — yes! more'n 
you could walk on if you walked forever!" 

Sometimes the stories told give evidence of a really 
vivid imagination and are not intended as falsehoods, 
because the child believes in them himself and tells them 
with sincerity. 

A five-year-old boy of my acquaintance was a re- 
markable example of this fact. He was the only child 
in the family and had been accustomed to playing 
alone. His mother, overhearing some of his soliloquies 
one day, was first amused and then startled by his 
statements, and finally decided that he had better be 
sent to school where contact with other children might 

118 



THE UNTRUTHFUL CHILD. 

subdue his imagination. He had been so accustomed 
to thinking of himself as the hero of all adventures 
that he invariably and unconsciously acted out each 
story the teacher told and almost always asked to tell 
another when she had finished. 

On one occasion she had told the class about a 
mother bird and her family of tiny robins. At the 
close of the narrative, Ernest raised his hand and said 
eagerly : 

"I want to tell how I teached the baby birds to fly." 

Miss Neal nodded and the little fellow, flushing with 
animation, began, 

"Well ! those baby birds lived in their nest up on 
top of our barn. You didn't know that, did you, Miss 
Neal ? And after they had growed some, their mother 
wanted to teach 'em to fly. Ev'ry day she'd spread her 
wings and coax 'em. 

" 'Come on, little birds,' she kep' a-sayin'. 'Oh, it's 
so nice to fly ! See ! I can see the flowers and the 
water and Ernest's house. Now I'm going up to the 
blue sky. Come on!' 

"But those little baby birds, they were as silly! 
'Cause why they were 'fraid to fly. They kep' their 
wings close't to their sides. They wiggled in the nest. 
Sometimes they squ'med a little, but they wouldn't try, 

119 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

not the leastest little speck. Then their mother coaxed 
'em. Then she scolded 'em. She squinched her feath- 
ers all up. Oo-h! she was cross! but they shaked and 
shaked and were too 'fraid to try. 

"Then she asked me, 'Ernest, teach my baby birds 
to fly?' 

"And me— I said, 'Yes, I will.' 

"So I climbed upon the barn and stwetched my 
wings and called those little birds. And would you 
b'lieve it? they shaked theirselves and hollered. 

" 'Don't you be 'fraid,' I told 'em. And nex' thing 
I knowed we was flyin' 'way 'zvay up over the church 
steeples, — higher, 'n higher, 'n higher! me! an' a hull 
string o' baby birds!" 

The blissful absorption on the little face was a study. 
It was evident the whole scene was very real to the 
speaker. The other children smiled at the picture pre- 
sented to their minds, and Ernest flushed in confusion, 
but the teacher brought him back to reality by saying 
gently : 

"Ernest can 'make up' very interesting stories." 

"Yes," said the child who two weeks before had 
been ready to vouch for all his narratives as perfectly 
truthful. "Course I know they're just make believe." 

It seems to me that it was far kinder and wiser to 

120 



THE UNTRUTHFUL CHILD. 

lead him thus to distinguish between fact and fiction, 
than it would have been to have compelled him to 
restrain his fancies or to have scolded him for being 
untruthful. 

Children admire courage and should be taught that 
it is the highest bravery to be honest. Perfect truth 
in speech and action should be commended and held up 
for emulation. Accurate work in all lessons should 
also be required, for many a child has been allowed to 
form dishonest habits by a teacher's unquestioning ac- 
ceptance of careless and incorrect work. 

The pupil can learn no more important lesson than 
that of truthfulness. Without that his life will be like 
a rudderless boat, at the mercy of every wind that 
blows. 



121 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 



XI. 

The Passionate Child. 

"I'll make you keep your temper! I'll teach you 
to contradict me again if you dare!" 

It was an angry mother who was speaking, and as I 
passed by I saw her box her child's ears a dozen times 
with energetic vehemence. The girl to whom she was 
speaking was one of my pupils — a vindictive, ill-natured 
little thing, with a temper like gunpowder. Under her 
mother's strong grasp she squirmed and kicked help- 
lessly, her face a study in its wrath and hatred. 

"I hate you !" she cried. "You stop hitting me ! Oh ! 
I'll pay you back sometime." 

Seeing me, the woman suspended operations for a 
moment to explain. 

"I'm just tryin' to take some of the temper out of 
Em'ly." 

Take it out ! She was adding to a stock that was 
already large, and if she could have read her daugh- 
ter's face and heart aright I think she would have 

123 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

paused in horror. The punishment given to check an 
outburst of passion roused the most evil impulses of 
the child's nature. 

Only a few days afterwards I saw another illustra- 
tion of the same kind of treatment with its results. 

Henry Crane, a seven-year-old boy, had disobeyed 
his teacher. It was not his first offense, so, losing pa- 
tience, the teacher sent for Mr. Crane. He soon ar- 
rived and was extremely angry with his son. 

"Tell the lady you're sorry" he commanded. 

The boy shut his mouth firmly. 'T won't" he mut- 
tered through his clinched teeth. 

In an instant the man had seized him by the collar. 
Drawing a strap from his pocket, he exclaimed : 

"You won't, sirree, We'll see about that. I'll teach 
you a lesson right here." 

The teacher tried to interpose, but in vain. The irate 
man beat his little son most mercilesslv, demanding at 
intervals : 

"Will you do what I tell you, Will you," 

At last, exhausted by pain, Henry sobbed, "I'll do it. 
You let me alone !" 

"Tell her you're sorry, then." 

"I'm— I'm sorry." 

"And you'll mind what she says." 

"I'll mind what you say." 

123 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

The glare of combat faded from the father's eyes. 
With a satisfied smile he turned to the teacher, saying : 

"I thought I could settle him. Miss Davidson. He 
has the worst temper of any boy I ever knew, but he 
knows he has to mind me when I speak. I mean to 
break his will now while he is small." 

As the door closed Miss Davison, turning suddenly, 
surprised an expression on Henry's face so grimly 
malignant that she shuddered. 

"Henry, don't look like that," she said compassion- 
ately, but in a whisper tense with rage the little fellow 
said: 

"He'd better watch out for himself. I'll kill him 
as soon as I get big." 

Mistaken as these two parents were, they are only 
types taken at random from numberless instances. It 
is exceedingly doubtful whether a passionate child was 
ever cured of his faults by treatment of this kind, yet 
it seems to be regarded with favor by many persons 
in authority. 

"But violent paroxysms of passion are wrong," says 
some one. 

Very true. 

"And one who manifests them should be taught 
self-control." 

124 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

Undoubtedly; but very seldom does a punishment 
given in anger accomplish a right result. 

Even a baby of six or eight months resents the hasty 
slap given him when his mother is irritated. In much 
greater degree does the thinking, reasoning child de- 
mand justice from his elders. We have all seen dogs 
who were cruelly treated yet who followed and loved 
those who had wronged them. Stories are told of 
slaves who endured the greatest indignities, yet re- 
tained their love for their masters. But our pupils are 
neither dogs nor slaves. 

When we have burned our hand we never try to 
cure the wound by holding a red-hot poker against it. 
Yet often we try to allay the child's anger by putting 
our own angry spirit against his. 

The passionate child should be treated with perfect 
justice and punished only when we are calm and self- 
possessed. Punishment is not revenge. To cause a 
pupil to feel sorry is sometimes the kindest thing to 
do, and shame may be the only healthy emotion pos- 
sible under certain circumstances, but to rouse either 
grief or shame for the mere sake of experiment or to 
show one's power is inexcusable. It is wicked. 

The power to influence others is a wonderful thing, 
— it is more than that — it is a solemn thing and one 

125 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

which should not be lightly used. We all have it in 
a greater or less degree. Consciously and unconsciously 
the rich and the poor, the cultured and the ignorant, the 
proud and the humble influence a circle large or small, 
as the case may be. To exert this power consciously 
is often irksome. As teachers we would fain ignore or 
shirk the responsibility, but it cannot be evaded. Our 
attempts at evasion or refusal change, but rarely lessen 
the effect upon our pupils. 

Acknowledging this fact, let us study for a few mo- 
ments the two most common types of passionate chil- 
dren. Somehow we have become accustomed to asso- 
ciating passion with outspoken frankness. This is not 
always an accompaniment. A child may be as cold as 
ice outwardly, may indeed be entirely speechless, and 
yet be raging with anger, just as it is possible for a 
volcano to be capped with snow. We may cover a fire 
with ashes so that every ember is hidden, yet have un- 
derneath a bed of living coals, 

A friend of mine has two little girls who are very 
dissimilar in many ways, but are alike in having strong 
wills. Their mother is ill much of the time and the 
children are utterly mismanaged by the servants. 

The other day the two sisters had quarreled about 
something. Both were extremely angry, but anger 

126 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

affected them in totally different ways. Helen's eyes 
flashed, her cheeks were scarlet, the veins on her face 
and hands stood out prominently and one could see 
them throbbing with the hot blood that coursed 
through them. Stamping her feet and screaming she 
shrieked out her rage in a perfect torrent of words. 
Olive, on the contrary, although every whit as angry, 
was as white as marble. Her eyes shone with a sullen 
light, her lips were closed firmly, her hands were 
tightly clinched. As quiet, as motionless, as if she were 
a statue, she regarded Helen with a steady stare. 

"Call me all the names you want to," she would in- 
terpose in the rare intervals when her sister paused for 
breath. 

It is impossible to describe the venom and aggrava- 
tion thrown into the few words. At last she added 
bitterly : 

"Maybe you'll call me that pretty name you did last 
time you got mad. You don't dare to, though, for 
mamma will punish you if you do. You don't dare to 
call me 'old double-dyed villain.' " 

"You are! You are!" shrieked Helen, perfectly be- 
side herself with wrath. "I do dare to. You are an 
old double-dyed villain!" 

The next instant both children were startled by the 
127 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

entrance of their mother, a grave, quiet lady whose 
face was grieved and perplexed. 

"Children, are you quarreling again?" she asked. 

"She called me names," said Olive, with trembling 
lips. "She called me that name she found in a bad 
book." 

The mother turned to the other child, whose face 
was crimson. 

"Go to your room at once," she said sternly. 

"Mamma, she was just as bad as me," sobbed Helen. 

"Did she call you names?" 

"No, ma'am, but she — she — she egged me on." 

"Well, you must learn to control your temper," the 
lady said, adding with a sigh, "I have never seen such 
a passionate child as you are." 

Yet in her other daughter she had a living exempli- 
fication of passion, dissimilar it is true, yet if possible 
even stronger and certainly under no better control. 

The fire that smoulders for a long time before burst- 
ing into flame often gains the most headway and is 
more dangerous than the quick blaze. 

I have heard persons who prided themselves on their 
self-control say proudly, "Well, there is one thing sure, 
I can control my temper ;" while at the same time they 
were maliciously and viciously inciting outbursts of 

128 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

rage from their opponents by sarcasm of the most 
merciless type. 

That is not self-control. Blows as cruel and treach- 
erous as those dealt by a stiletto may be dealt by the 
tongue, and sometimes a single deliberate word spoken 
with pitiless intention sears the heart of the listener so 
deeply that the scars remain until death. 

We give our pupils very little if we do not help each 
of these types of passionate children to learn the need 
of true self-mastery. 

As long as we hold ourselves well in hand we can 
control others. As soon as we lose, even momentarily, 
this power over self, we lose also the highest influence 
over our pupils, and they know it. 

"Teacher was hopping mad," said a small boy glee- 
fully. Half the class got kept in today. She's always 
talking to me about not getting angry, but she just 
gets zvild herself!" 

The teacher who feels herself growing excited and 
impatient may often keep from yielding to her feelings 
by exercising a little thought. She may leave the room 
for a few moments to get a whiff or different air, she 
may tell the children to close their eyes for an instant 
as they bow their heads on their desk and sing a 
"sleepy" song; almost any interruption, however small, 

129 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

by changing the current of her thoughts may bring 
back the poise and confidence which have been lost. 

One of the loveHest teachers I have ever known once 
showed me a small box which she kept in her desk. 

"It contains my cure for crossness," she said. 
"Would you like to see it?" 

Inside of the box was a tiny picture of Christ bless- 
ing the children. Around the margin in dainty let- 
tering was the one word "Inasmuch." 

"I never look at it except when I am especially 
tempted to be irritable," she said softly. "But I keep 
it here all the time and whenever I am perplexed or an- 
gry it seems to give me new strength and patience." 

This spirit of gentleness, which is not weakness, is 
the only one that will help us to cope successfully with 
the passionate child. 

There is a relief in "letting ourselves go," as the 
boys say. A teacher said to me as I passed through 
the room : 

"This is one of my fighting days. The children act 
like imps and it has been nothing but fight since the 
morning began." 

Glancing at her I saw that her face was nervous 
and angry, the fretful word trembled on her lips, and 
her pupils, unconsciously irritated by her attitude, were 
squirming and twisting in discomfort. 

130 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

It is not always possible to prevent an angry frame 
of mind. Teachers are but human and the temptation 
to become irritable is often almost unconquerable, but 
the relief afforded by these ebullitions is only momen- 
tary and leaves us more uncomfortable than before. 

"But," says some teacher, "It does me lots of good 
to lay down the law once in a while. I feel as if I were 
ten years younger after I've given Jakie a thorough 
scolding. It doesn't hurt my class, either. They're 
used to it. I like a little variety and spice in the class- 
room. Why! when I get so quiet and subdued that I 
reason with the children I'll be like the deacon's horse 
that was fed on sawdust. The poor thing died, and 
the deacon said, "Isn't that too bad? just as the pleggy 
creetur begun to relish his new vittles, he passed away !' 
Why! if I ever reach that state of perfection I'm sure 
the angels will call me higher!" 

Another teacher says : 

"Oh, yes, gentleness and patience are all very well 
under ordinary circumstances, but how about the day 
when everything goes wrong?" 

The day when everything goes wrong! Don't we 
know all about it? The day when the ink "spills it- 
self," when Jim "punches" John, when Molly giggles 
ceaselessly, when Ted mutters under his breath, when 

131 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

even Thomas, the "old reHable," upon whom we 
thought we could depend implicitly, loses his place in 
reading and looks so "scared" that his very penitence 
makes us angry, — then it is that our patience gives way 
and the impulse comes to us to deal with the class 
somewhat after this fashion: 

"Jim, I told you not to touch John. If you do it 
again, I'll keep you till four o'clock." 

"Molly, if you don't stop giggling, I'll stand you 
in the corner." 

"Ted, don't let me hear any more of that mumbling 
or you'll go straight to the Principal." 

If we yield to these impulses five o'clock will prob- 
ably find us cross, weary and utterly discouraged, 
trudging homeward with a raging headache and the 
conviction that life is not worth living. The morning 
may bring us fresh hope so that we can start anew, but 
there is a possibility that the results of that trying day 
may be more far-reaching than we thought. 

It may be that John and Molly, Jim and Jakie have 
forgotten the sharp words we uttered hastily, but Ted 
of the flashing eye and sullen temper has neither for- 
gotten nor forgiven, and it will be next to impossible 
to regain the influence won so hardly, lost so easily. 

There are few habits which when once formed grow 

132 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

more rapidly than does the habit of threatening. Some- 
times a teacher is betrayed into making ridiculous 
statements in this connection, using as little logic as 
the irate captain in the old story, who said to a soldier 
on parade: 

"If you open your lips again you shall go into the 
lock-up for three days! You understand me? Did you 
understand me, I say? If you don't open your lips 
this minute you'll get three days in the lock-up!" 

There is such a thing as righteous anger. There 
are times when the quick word of remonstrance or 
even the swift act of retribution, is justifiable. These 
occasions come only when all other means have been 
tried and have failed, and when the teacher knows 
that the pupil in question, either through wrong home- 
training or because of some abnormal tendency, has 
become so hardened that he construes all kindness as 
weakness. Happily for the world these cases are very 
few and a consecrated teacher by deliberate study and 
patient love may find the pathway to even these dark- 
ened hearts. 

The pupil who does right through fear does it from 
the lowest motive. The pupil who does his duty be- 
cause he values our approval and understands that we 
wish his best development has gone several steps higher, 

133 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

but has not reached the highest motive. It is only 
when he does right for right's sake, realizing his re- 
sponsibility to God and his own freedom of choice, 
that he begins to know the full beauty and meaning 
of life and of freedom. 

A big boy once said to a friend, "I wish you could 
be with me always, because you make me be good." 

It was a foolish wish. As well might the baby who 
has just begun to learn to walk, say longingly as he 
toddles along holding his mother's finger, "I wish I 
could always have this to help me." 

The mother must loosen her grasp at times, the 
child must struggle and fall and rise again, many, many 
times before he walks confidently. To keep him de- 
pendent is not true kindness. The same thing is true 
of our pupils whatever their faults. The sooner we 
can help them to master their weaknesses the better it 
will be for them, for ourselves, and the class. 

One thing which should always be avoided in dealing 
with the passionate child is the use of ridicule or of 
unnecessary remarks on his failing. We would not 
dream of sprinkling pepper on an open wound. Com- 
mon sense would tell us it would only inflame and ir- 
ritate the sore. Needless comments on the actions of 
angry children do no good, indeed they often work 

positive harm. 

134 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

I must confess that my sympathy lies entirely with 
the child in the following incident : 

Little Herbert, a boy of violent temper and strong 
will, had been sent from the table. For an hour he 
proceeded to kick and scream in the corner. At last 
seeing that he was gaining nothing by his activity he 
subsided into silence. His mother regarded him with 
relief. 

"Well, Herbert," she remarked judicially, "I'm glad 
you see how silly you've been acting and are ready to 
stop crying." 

"Haven't stopped !" cried Herbert with fresh fury. 
"I was only resting," and he began again with re- 
doubled vigor. 

"Now I declare!" exclaimed his mother helplessly. 
"Whatever did I say to set him going again?" 

Talking to the child gravely, yet kindly, after he has 
had time to "cool off," showing him that you want to 
respect him but cannot when he forfeits your regard, 
punishing him by forbidding him to play with his mates 
unless he can control himself, all these are far more 
rational proceedings than the infliction of a hasty whip- 
ping or a scornful taunt. 

A little boy who had played on the beach all day said 
to his mother at night, 

135 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

"Mother, I cannot sleep. Some one has written 
wicked words on the white sand down by the rocks. I 
read them and tried to cover them, but there were so 
many and it took so long that I got tired and left them. 
But now I keep thinking of them and they make me 
sorry. Shall I go and finish the work now?" 

His mother smiled. "Come, stand here by the win- 
dow a moment," she said. "I think the words will all 
be washed away tonight by the power of the waves." 

The child looked out. There lay the great ocean, 
still and beautiful. The moon made a pathway of sil- 
ver over the water. There was not a sound except the 
steady murmur of the white waves singing softly as 
they rippled in. The wide shimmering sea seemed to 
be asleep and the boy said, "I don't see any power 
there." 

But the next morning when the sun arose the little 
lad went to the beach again. The sand was white and 
clean and smooth. Every trace of the ugly words had 
disappeared. The mighty silent tide had swept them 
all away. 

So upon the child's heart we often read things that 
grieve and displease us. We try our best to remove 
them, but the marks are so deep and there are so many 
of them that we grow discouraged. But if we will 

136 



THE PASSIONATE CHILD. 

only let the great silent waves of love and tenderness 
rise and cover them we shall find some day to our sur- 
prise that the ugly marks have gone. 

Power gives power. It is only by using a talent that 
it increases, and this is true of virtue. Every victory 
gained makes the soul stronger. Every conquest over 
self makes us better fitted for the next. 

The beginner seated at the piano may with tremulous 
fingers waken notes which are sweet but uncertain. 
His touch is not sure. He gives us only hints of what 
may follow after patient endeavor. But watch some 
master musician as with majestic power he awakens the 
wonderful chords of harmony. Seemingly without ef- 
fort he makes us hear all the beautiful sounds in the 
world of nature. Spell-bound we listen to the piping 
of birds in the first day of the summer morning, to 
the ripple of the little brook as it dances down the green 
hillside, the thunderous bass of old ocean in a storm, 
the murmur of the wind among the pine trees. More 
than that, he can make us feel the deepest emotions, — 
thoughts that speak of life and love, of death and sor- 
row, and of the perfect peace and joy to come. Ask his 
secret and he will tell you it was practice, long hours of 
trial and failure, but at last the confidence of success. 

It is just the same with our pupils, whatever their 

137 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

faults. It is so with us. Both they and we must strug- 
gle and fail, and struggle and win, until, under the tui- 
tion of the Great Teacher, life becomes not discord or 
even a mere melody alone, but a rich harmony that will 
cheer and strengthen others by its uplift and inspira- 
tion. 



138 



SOME TYPES OF TEACHERS. 



XIL 

Some Types of Teachers. 

One of the best things a teacher can do sometimes is 
to "go a-visiting," and call on other teachers. Much 
may be learned even from the mistakes of others, while 
the good we observe becomes a source of inspiration 
to us. 

Among the many teachers whose work I observed 
during the year, six stand out in my memory more 
distinctly than the rest, because of their dissimilarity. 

The first was a dimpled little teacher with eyes as 
blue as violets. When I opened the door of her room 
she came forward to meet me with outstretched hand 
and a beaming smile. 

"I am just too glad to see you for anything," she 
said. *T perfectly adore visitors, and so do the chil- 
dren. You will fall in love with the class, I know. I 
have the dearest, sweetest little cherubs in the whole 
world. But first of all, let me ask — You're not one of 
those awful, horrid people who believe that cunning 

139 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

little darlings should be tied right down in their seats, 
and never, never allowed to move, are you ? I let them 
have all the liberty I can. Love is the only law in our 
room, and they all know it, too. It's too perfectly 
sweet to hear them say it. I'll ask them, and you just 
listen. Children, what is the only law in Miss Ed- 
wards' room?" 

Forty small pupils suspended operations long enough 
to pipe shrilly, 

"Lawo' love!" 

"Isn't that too sweetly dear? Well, what is it, 
Josie?" 

Josie declared that William Banks had pulled her 
hair. 

"Oh, I'm sure you must have been mistaken, Josie. 
William is a kind little gentleman, and no polite little 
gentleman would ever pull a dear little lady's hair! 
And now we are going to have a perfectly lovely read- 
ing lesson. They just simply love to read, and they 
pick up new words so quickly that it's really amazing. 
Now I want the very closest attention while I put a 
word on the blackboard." 

Half a dozen children looked up from the sticks 
with which they had been playing, while she wrote 
"kitty" on the board. 

140 



SOME TYPES OF TEACHERS. 

"Nelly, what is that word ? You know it. We had 
it the other day. She is the brightest little reader !'' 

Nelly sucked her thumb in silent meditation. 

"Oh! you know it, darling. What is that cunning 
little thing with four legs that says, 'Meow' ?" 

"Kitty!" said Nelly triumphantly. 

"Yes, that's it. I knew you'd remember if you 
thought hard. Now, Fred, what is this word ?" 

"Pig." 

"Oh! no, indeed, dear. It's something that has a 
short tail and big long ears. You know it. Just think !" 

"It's a rabbit." 

"Oh, how fine! Frankie, what word have I writ- 
ten now?" 

Frankie, who had been making a journey around 
the room, said that he was playing horse and didn't 
want to learn any old reading lesson. 

Miss Edwards wheeled around and started down the 
aisle at a great rate. I thought she had gone to cap- 
ture the refractory Frankie, but she cried cheerfully. 

"Well! come on, then. Frankie wants us to play 
horse, so we'll all do it. Oh ! I'm the biggest, fastest 
horse you ever saw !" 

This proved more interesting than the reading, so 

almost all the children straggled out of their seats and 

joined the trot. 

141 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

As she passed my chair Miss Edwards explained 
breathlessly that she always followed the children's 
lead. It made them so much quieter and more reason- 
able afterwards and it was so interesting to see the cute 
fancies in their dear little minds. 

The circuit of the room having been made several 
times, she finally said, **Now we'll stop being horses, 
for I want Frankie to tell me what that nice word on 
the board is." 

"Don't want to tell any words. I want to be a choo- 
choo car!" 

He hurried away again, puffing and tooting, while 
Miss Edwards sat down and rested for a moment. 

"Want you to be a choo-choo car, too," he demanded 
after a few seconds, coming up to her and taking 
hold of her hand. 

"Isn't he too perfectly sweet? He can't be happy 
unless I'm in the game. But after we've played train, 
we won't play any more. We're going to read, oh! 
so many, many splendid new words." 

The whole morning passed in the same way. Once 
in a while she would get their attention and the buzz 
in. the room would cease for one blissful moment, only 
to start again with renewed vigor. 

''Do come again," she said, when I told her I must 

142 



SOME TYPES OF TEACHERS. 

go. "The children have enjoyed your visit so much. 
And oh ! don't you think they are really original little 
things? It's just the szveetest, dearest class I've ever 
seen. Say good-bye to our visitor, children." 

"Good-bye!" shouted the forty with hearty aban- 
don, and as I closed the door I heard the cheerful com- 
ment, "That was sweetly pretty, dears!" 

The next teacher had a class in the second grammar 
grade. A lesson in arithmetic was in progress when 
I entered. Miss Phillips was evidently not too well- 
pleased to have a visitor. A few of the pupils looked 
up from their work to observe the stranger, and Miss 
Phillips remarked, 

"It is so pleasant to have everyone stare at a new- 
comer. Perhaps somebody would like to step up and 
ask the young lady where she came from." 

No one accepted this invitation, so she went on : 

"We'll continue the recitation, then, if you have all 
collected your scattered nerves. Thomas may read 
the next example." 

Thomas rose, but before he could begin the prob- 
lem she exclaimed, 

"Oh ! wait ! I am really afraid you will fall to pieces. 

Shall I provide you with a cane or would you like to 

prop yourself against the wall?" 

143 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

The boy flushed, but read the example, calhng on 
a lad named Henry to give the answer. 

The latter rose, announcing in deep and thunderous 
tones, "4.042," 

"So soft! so sweet!" sighed Miss Phillips. "The 
passing breath of summer could not be softer ! John 
Gordon, next." 

Alas for unlucky John ! his gaze was fastened on the 
ceiling and he did not hear the question. 

Miss Phillips gazed upward, too. 

"Behold! boys," she said. "John cannot attend to 
his arithmetic. He has just made a discovery. There 
is a iiy on the ceiling ! strange fact in natural history ! 
John sees a fly walking on the ceiling ! lessons are noth- 
ing when compared with this phenomena. Let us all 
observe it." 

After the arithrpetic lesson, it was time for five min- 
utes of marching. 

"Make all the noise you can," Miss Phillips sug- 
gested, "so as to be sure the class beneath us may know 
you are alive yet. Don't forget to step on the heels of 
your boots. They may make a little more racket than 
the toes, you know." 

The reading lesson came next. The story was about 
a fire, and contained a thrilling account of some he- 

144 



SOME TYPES OP TEACHERS. 

roic rescues. Nora Eagle read the first paragraph. In 
timid, gentle tones she began, 

"Fire! fire! fire! hear the bells ringing their wild 
alarums out to the frosty sky! 'Tis a fearful sound 
to hear in the dead of night. Hark ! hear them again. 
Fire! fire! fire!" 

"Stop !" cried Miss Phillips. "How thrilling ! how 
beautifully read ! Why ! we can almost hear the bells. 
Now perhaps Walter will be good enough to try it. 
The same paragraph, please, and don't harrow our 
souls too much, if you can help it." 

Walter was not remarkable for his quickness. 

"Fire! — fire! — fire! — hear — the — bells — ring- 
ing — their — wild — a — larums — to — the — frosty — 
sky—" 

"That will do. All the fire-men are asleep. Even 
the bell-ringer must be nodding while he pulls the 
ropes. There is nothing like being realistic. Joshua, 
you try next, and do see if you can wake up a little." 

Warned by the experience of his predecessors, 
Joshua started ofif at break-neck speed, regardless of 
all punctuation. 

"Fire! fire! fire! hear the bells ringing their wild 
alarumstothefrosty sky — " 

"Oh! the firemen are all awake now. They must 

145 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

be running down the street! and none of them are 
looking where they are going!" 

When I rose to go, she said : 

"Come again some time, won't you? I'm sure you 
must have enjoyed the brilHant recitations you have 
heard. And now, boys and girls, if you don't think 
she can find the way out, why, we'll all suspend work 
and let poor James show her, for he seems to be so 
anxious about it." 

The third teacher was a thin little lady with a wor- 
ried look, but she could move more quickly than any- 
one else that I have ever seen. She kept her class and 
herself, too, constantly agitated. 

"Time is precious," she kept assuring them. "Save 
the minutes and the hours will take care of themselves." 

She seemed to have imbued them all with her own 
spirit. There were only two or three lazy ones among 
them, and they were fairly carried along by the tide 
of popular opinion. There was, literally, not one mo- 
ment's breathing spell. The pupils hurried to the 
board, and hurried back again. There was no disor- 
der. Everyone seemed to realize that just so much 
had to be accomplished. The only fault that an ob- 
server could find was that the tension was too tight, 

146 



SOME TYPES OF TEACHERS. 

the pressure too rapid and continuous. Almost all the 
pupils had flushed cheeks, and now and then they 
passed their hands across their foreheads as if they 
were weary. After dismission the teacher leaned back 
in her chair and turned to me. 

"I am too tired to breathe/' she said. I feel like a 
race-horse that quivers all over after he has made his 
last run. You see, I want to do exactly so much every 
day with this class, and the children in it are naturally 
slow. I never could accomplish what I must, if I let 
one moment go to waste." 

"That noon while talking with the principal, he re- 
ferred to the teacher I have just described, saying, 

"She is one of the most faithful teachers I have ever 
met. The amount of work she does is phenomenal. If 
she would only ease up a little, now and then, on her 
class and herself she would be perfection. By the 
way," he added, "We have, in this same building, a 
teacher who is her exact opposite. Why not stay this 
afternoon and visit Miss Sullivan?" 

I agreed, so he introduced me to the lady in question. 
When I asked her if she disliked having company, she 
regarded me with a calm, benevolent smile, and an- 
swered with a wave of her hand, 

147 



GLIMPSES OP CHILD NATURE. 

"Oh, no, I never allow anything to trouble me, I 
shall go on with the lessons precisely as if you were 
not here." 

She was quite stout and had flaxen hair. In the 
front of her room stood an arm-chair from which she 
never stirred during the entire afternoon. Waving her 
hand in a majestic curve she dispensed justice like an 
impartial queen. When the pupils entered, one boy 
complained that another had pushed him. Miss Sulli- 
van summoned plaintiff and defendant to her throne. 

"Robert may sit out in the cloak-room, and Horace 
may write twenty lines of his reading-lesson," she 
said. 

An air of placid peace and contentment brooded 
over her domain. Boys and girls leisurely strolled up 
to recitation, then sauntered leisurely to their seats. 
There was plenty of time for everything. If by chance 
some child moved more quickly than the others, Miss 
Sullivan would inquire gently : 

"Did you think we would all jump from the win- 
dows and leave you? There's no need to hurry. Haste 
wears one out." 

During the reading class her advice was, "Take time 
to think. Better be slow and right than quick and 
wrong." I 

"Not a wave of trouble rolled 
Across her peaceful breast." 

148 



SOME TYPES OF TEACHERS. 

I am sure she must have been a descendant of Rip 
Van Winkle. The contrast between her and the 
teacher I had visited in the morning" was certainly lud- 
icrous. It did not require a very great stretch of the 
imagination to fancy her saying: 

"Now, children, the greatest lesson of all is the les- 
son of repose. Let us all take a quiet nap together !" 

I went to visit Miss Dunn's class because she has the 
reputation of being the best disciplinarian in the city in 
which she teaches. 

It was a warm day in June. The air in the school- 
room was oppressively close. There were thirty-two 
boys present, their average age being about fourteen. 
Miss Dunn held herself as stiff and straight as a poker. 
She wore a black dress and shiny white cuffs and 
collar. She informed me that the class was one which 
had had an extremely bad reputation, but she had soon 
shown them that they couldn't "pull the wool over her 
eyes," nor walk away with her. The room was as 
quiet as could be, the ticking of a tiny clock being dis- 
tinctly audible. Miss Dunn's gaze flitted everywhere. 
I did not see a pupil move, yet several times her voice 
rang out, 

149 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

"Attention this way. An hour after school, Henry." 

"Forty Hnes of history tonight, Marvin." 

The lesson in reading was "The Vision of Sir Laun- 
fal," that beautiful story which appeals so powerfully 
to boys when it is explained to them. But Miss Dunn 
had no time to waste on the story. She was resolved 
to preserve discipline or perish. Outside in the old elm 
tree the little birds sang as if it really were, "The one 
day in summer in all the year." 

Inside, thirty-two boys rose, one after another, and 
read the exquisite lines, receiving for comment only, 

"Poor position!" 

"Incorrect attitude !" 

"Indistinct enunciation!" 

The sixth teacher. Miss Clara Smith, had a little 
dark room, away in the rear of a crowded school build- 
ing in a great city. Forty-four pupils of almost all na- 
tionalities were in the room, which would have been 
uncomfortable with even twenty. The children were 
about nine, ten or eleven years old. On one of the side 
walls a big golden sun, cut from yellow paper, made the 
dark room almost bright. 

It was just before Easter and a white lily stood in a 
glass on the window-sill. The children's faces were 

150 



SOME TYPES OP TEACHERS. 

happy. Sometimes they smiled at the teacher and she 
smiled in return, with a kind of comradeship which 
seemed to make work easy. 

One big fellow in the back of the room was evidently 
too old for the class. He was ragged and forlorn. 
His lips had a sullen droop. Sometimes he dropped 
his pencil and scowled angrily over his book. Then 
Miss Smith would put her hand on his shoulder, say- 
ing something in a low tone. The boy would look at 
her, smile half-reluctantly, and try again. And when 
at last he understood the lesson, without having been 
helped at all, I don't know which was the gladder — he 
or she! 

I don't know, either, whether it would be possible 
to describe that morning. I could tell you all about 
the arithmetic lesson, the reading and language, the 
songs that were sung, and the geography class with 
its vivid descriptions of Indian life and character, — 
but it would be impossible to make you realize the 
charm of it all, unless I could paint for you the atmos- 
phere of the room and the personality of the teacher. 

Things happened, as they do sometimes in all school- 
rooms. A few pupils whispered oftener than was 
necessary, one boy shuffled his feet, and I saw a girl 
chewing gum with untiring assiduity, but these were 

mere trifles. 

151 



GLIMPSES OF CHILD NATURE. 

The general thought of the class seemed to be that 
each individual should do the best he or she possibly 
could. A word, a look from the teacher caused disor- 
der to cease and was sufficient reward for all the ef- 
fort put forth. 

As I went home that afternoon I felt a glow of pride 
that such teachers as the last may easily be found, and 
that each one is exerting a tremendous influence for 
crood. 



THE DND. 



152, 



StP 30 tbiH 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



021 762 890 8 



